Seeking the Sun
by MatchaLover
Summary: "The real question is, how are we going to explain this to the professor?" "Is he really that deaf?" "Are you kidding me?" Tintin shook his head. "Get ready to shout 'WE'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP' at the top of your lungs. Several times." PRISONERS OF THE SUN, done my way, for hopeless romantics only. TintinxOC; apologies to Zorrino. IT'S DONE!
1. Chapter 1

_This story starts midway through PRISONERS OF THE SUN, after Tintin and Haddock have arrived in Peru and finally made it to the fictional town of Jauga, only to be denied any information on Calculus by a close-lipped police officer who seemed to know more than he was willing to tell. Now, Tintin and the Captain have temporarily split up, and are wandering through the town attempting to question the people of Jauga to find any information on where Calculus was taken._

 _I am not a fluent Spanish speaker, nor am I Peruvian. Nor Belgian, for that matter, so I am sure this story is full of inauthenticities. I apologize in advance, and welcome corrections._

"¡No sé!" was preying on Tintin's last nerve. He leaned against a brick wall and forced himself to take a deep breath.

The problem wasn't the complete lack of any new information that might lead to Calculus; it was that each person he questioned interrupted with "I don't know!" before he could ask any real questions. He'd asked it over and over: "¿Haz visto un hombre bajo, con una bar-" "¡NO SÉ!"

Tintin massaged his temple, then reached down to scratch Snowy behind the ears. He was starting to wonder if something sinister was at work. They all said "no sé", but their tones, body language, and tendency to bolt communicated "leave me alone" much louder. Would it be insane to suspect a conspiracy of silence? Was he paranoid to wonder if these Peruvian people were united in an effort to keep the clueless white guy as clueless as ever?

Across the street and up the block, Tintin's eye was drawn to a young girl with a long, dark braid and a striking red scarf. She carried a towering basket of oranges. Halfway down the street, she paused, balanced on her left foot, angled her right foot to slide her sandal halfway off, shook out a pebble, slipped her foot back into the sandal, and continued on her way. The whole process took less than five seconds and left not a single orange disturbed. Tintin was impressed. He set his frustration aside and started to cross the street towards her, determined to finish the question before accepting an answer this time.

Before he reached her, a sickening scene unfolded. Two white men, apparently bored, accosted the girl. One-a large, pale man in an rust-colored shirt-kicked her basket into her face. Both men laughed uproariously as the girl, face blank, knelt to collect her fallen oranges. Her poker face slipped when the same man stepped hard on her hand, and she cried out in pain as both continued to laugh. With her free hand, she pounded on his leg, hitting him until he stumbled away.

Tintin saw red. The rust-shirted pale man was already stumbling, tripping on the fallen oranges, but Tintin-who couldn't remember sprinting to the girl's side, though he must have-shoved him, hard. His head hit the wall, and he went down, landing in a heap at his friend's feet.

"Brute!" Tintin screamed. "Aren't you ashamed? ¡Ella es una hija!"

"¿Estás buscando camorra?" growled the standing white man, but the rust-shirt man motioned him aside as he rubbed his head. Tintin ignored them and knelt by the girl, who was cradling her hand. She looked to be a year or two younger than he. "¿Está usted lastimado? ¿Puedo ver su mano?"

Her dark eyes, too big for her face, widened as she slowly extended her arm. Without breaking eye contact, Tintin held her forearm steady, then gently pivoted her hand back and forth at the wrist. "¿Bueno?" he asked, and sighed in relief as she nodded.

He used a gentle fingertip to turn her hand over, for some reason sharply aware of his light, pale fingers against her dark brown skin. He swallowed. Her palm was scratched and cut from the gravel, but not badly. "Usted va a estar bien." He gently tugged on her red scarf, and met her eyes again to ask "¿Puedo…?" She nodded as he unwrapped it from her neck and gently but securely wrapped it around her hand. "Vamanos a mi amigo." Muttering to himself, he added, "The Captain's bound to have some alcohol nearby."

"Niña," the girl said softly as Tintin helped her stand.

"¿Perdón?" said Tintin.

"You said 'ella es una hija' before," she replied, sliding into an American accent for the English words, "but I'm nobody's daughter. You meant niña. And who's the Captain?"

Tintin could only stare. He wasn't expecting her to speak any English, let alone flawless, American English.

But, against his will, his brain was fixating less on her multilingualism and more on his vocabulary error. She was right; he should have called her niña, child, rather than hija-daughter. His mind racing, he replayed his own words in his mind: "¡Ella es una hija!". Then her words: "I'm nobody's daughter."

Was she an orphan, like him?

Had he just screamed the equivalent of "She's somebody's daughter!" at the rust-shirt man?

If he had-his stomach turned over-he had probably hurt her more deeply and sharply than the horrible man who'd kicked her, destroyed her wares, and stomped on her body.


	2. Chapter 2

_A note about languages: I recognize, of course, that Tintin's primary language would actually be French (with a Belgian dialect), not English. But, I (American) grew up with the (British) English translations, complete with all the UK spellings and turns of phrase (colour, gaol, "jolly good", "mind the step", etc.) and they're engraved in my brain. In my head, Tintin speaks English, with an English accent, and so does everyone around him those rare times he's at home; and, his home is in, and he is from, Belgium. Do I contradict myself? Isn't that the point of fanfic? To contain multitudes?_

 _In this fic, I'm trying to honor the truth of Peru as a real place where Spanish and Quechua are the primary languages, as well as Qoya's character (which you'll learn more about later). I welcome any and all corrections on the Spanish-I'm probably getting a ton of stuff wrong. It might strike you as odd that I'm doing my utmost to get the Spanish right while casually changing Tintin and Captain Haddock's primary language. Or maybe you don't really care and I'm way overthinking all this. At any rate, I figure that if Hergé can write a story in which Tintin stumbles upon the long-hidden, geographically isolated, ancient Incan Temple of the Sun, and all the people living there speak perfect French, I can do whatever I want in this fic :-)_

A smack on the back of his head brought Tintin back to the present. The man in the rust-colored shirt was standing, bouncing on the balls of his feet, sleeves rolled up. "¿Quieres luchar por esa india pequeña? Vamanos, muchacho."*

"Usted quería decir 'Indígina,' señor,"** the girl called, tossing her braid over her shoulder, "o puedes llamarme 'Quechua'. Eso es lo que yo prefiero." Tintin found himself staring at her again.

The pale man stopped bouncing and tilted his head, a profoundly confused expression appearing on his face; he shook it off and took a massive, slow swipe at Tintin, who stopped staring at the girl long enough to duck the punch.

"¡Toma-pequeña rata!" The punches continued, but connected with nothing but air. Eventually, he missed Tintin's face and instead hit the wall so hard it cracked-and so, judging from his howl of pain, had the bones of his fingers. His friend tried to jump Tintin from behind, but Snowy took a chomp at him, and soon neither man was a threat.

Tintin called for Snowy, his mind still racing, and turned back to the girl.

She was gone.

He turned in a circle, feeling like an idiot, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Snowy looked up at him, as if to say "what now?"

"No sé," said Tintin.

He was halfway back to the meeting spot he and Captain Haddock had agreed upon when he heard the whisper from the bushes.

"Pssssst!"

He stopped. It was the girl, he was certain. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. Instinctively, he moved towards the bushes.

"No, don't look this way," she hissed. "Just-pretend to tie your shoe, or something."

Obediently, Tintin crouched, and fiddled with the lace of his shoe.

"I know where your friend is. I'll take you to him, but we need supplies. Buy tents and food and warm clothes and matches and anything else you need for a long trip. We'll be hiking through the mountains and the jungle. My fee is 250 sol, which is about half what anyone else will charge you, you can ask around. You can also pay me in pounds or dollars.*** Meet me at dawn at El Puente Del Inca. Do you understand?"

"The Bridge of the Inca?"

"Yes, but the signs won't be in English. El Puente Del Inca. Be there at dawn. Go now." A slight rustling.

"Wait-who are you? What's your name?"

No answer.

*"India" is a Spanish slur, used in some parts of the world, to describe Indigenous people (in English, it would translate literally to "Indian"). I am not sure whether it is accurate to use it in this case-a Peruvian of European ancestry in 1948 may have used a completely different word as a slur for an Indigenous person, but that's beyond my research know-how.

**"Indígina" is, as best I could find out, probably what Qoya would have wanted to be called rather than "india". Please correct me if I'm wrong.

***250 Sol would have been roughly $75, or almost $750 in US currency today.


	3. Chapter 3

_It occurs to me that I've been forgetting to state the obvious: I do not own Tintin or any part of Tintin or anything associated with Tintin except every single Tintin book in existence. I don't profit from this story, unless reviewers are kind enough to offer constructive criticism (which I love)._

 _Points for you, if you get the classic movie reference in this chapter. Enjoy and have a great week!_

Tintin stood, stunned. A guide, out of the blue? How fortunate! It was exactly what they needed!… and yet… he'd never traveled with a girl before. How would this work, exactly? Where would they change their clothes? Should he buy two separate tents? Or would that be too much to carry?

And—why should he trust a stranger? What if this was a trap?

He walked into a wall and winced, realizing that he should have worried about a potential trap before he'd worried about whether to buy two tents.

Out of nowhere, a tall man in a poncho and yellow hat appeared at Tintin's side and touched his elbow. "Señor—¿Hablas español?"

Tintin was startled, but the man didn't seem threatening. "Poquito."

He spoke slowly and clearly, so that Tintin could understand. "Vi usted ayudar a la niña." ( _I saw you help the girl_ ). Tintin nodded.

"Creo que usted tiene buen corazon."

"Corazon…" Tintin had known this at some point… The man gestured towards his heart. ( _I think you have a good heart._ ) Tintin nodded again.

"No busque su amigo." ( _Do not look for your friend._ )

Tintin gasped and forgot to speak Spanish. "Wait just a minute. How do you know-who are you—"

The stranger stepped forward; Tintin stepped back.

"No busque su amigo. Y mantente alejado de esa chica." Tintin couldn't understand the second sentence; he shook his head. The man pointed towards the corner where the men had attacked the girl. "La chica. La niña. No te acer… no te vayas cerca de ella otra vez." Ah. That time, Tintin understood. _The girl. Don't go near her again._

The man reached for Tintin's arm. Tintin jerked away, squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes.

"Gracias. Pero, no puedo abandonar mi amigo." The man sighed and reached for Tintin's arm again. This time, Tintin let him drop a small, metal object into his hand.

"Eres valiente, pero tonto. Toma esto, gringo tonto." This, he spoke rapidly, and Tintin could not follow it. When Tintin looked quizzically from the metal object in his hand back to the man, he responded by closing Tintin's fingers tightly over the—whatever it was. "Tómalo." ( _Take it._ )

Tintin held it up for a better look. It was a small necklace—a beautiful, golden sun with 8 points. A talisman of some sort? Tintin looked up. "Grac—"

The man was gone. Tintin sighed. People certainly came and went very quickly in this place.

Snowy nudged at his calf and whined. "You hungry, boy?" Snowy yipped. "Me, too. Let's go find the Captain."

The pair set off down the gravel road, and Tintin slipped the talisman into his pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Next Morning, At Dawn…**

"Blistering barnacles," the Captain grumbled. "Why doesn't she show up, this girl of yours?"

"She's hardly 'my girl,' Captain," Tintin said, stifling a yawn. "She's our guide."

"Sorry," the Captain said. His looked sideways at Tintin. "Didn't know it mattered."

Tintin groaned inwardly. Ever since he'd told the story about the orange seller and the horrible men who'd assaulted her, the Captain had been poking fun at him for "rushing to the girl's defense," and Tintin had resolved to ignore it. Reacting to "this girl of yours" had been a strategic error.

"Blistering barnacles," muttered the Captain. "My stomach does not like being up this early, I'm having enough trouble with the altitude already…"

"Over here!" came a loud whisper, and Tintin thanked the heavens for the good timing.

"Careful… we don't know it's not a trap," he said, as he and the Captain made their way, guns drawn, towards the ruins of a small hut at the base of El Puente Del Inca.

The girl stepped from the shadows. Her red scarf was still wrapped around her hand, a beacon in the dim morning light. "Are you crazy? Put those guns away."

Both men kept their rifles drawn, but neither raised them. "Are they loaded?" the girl asked.

"Wouldn't be much use if they weren't," answered the Captain, his voice guarded but not unfriendly.

"Jesucristo," the girl muttered. She bit her lower lip, chewing on it nervously for a few seconds, then began to mutter, "Estos hombres son completamente locos. ¿Como van a hacer amigos si traen armas de fuego cuando se-"

"Excuse me," said Tintin, trying to inject ice into his voice. "I speak a little Spanish, but I can't keep up when you go so fast."

"Eh, you get the jist," replied the girl. And he did.

Captain Haddock chuckled; Tintin shot daggers at him with his eyes, which only egged him on. "She's pretty," he muttered under his breath, and Tintin pretended not to hear.

"Well, what do you suggest?" he directed his words at the girl. "Should we go on this trip completely unarmed?"

"I have darts. From k'ayra," she said. "Poison dart frogs," she clarified.

They were standing closer now, and Tintin could see that nobody was hiding in the shadows, waiting to jump out at them. He and the girl measured each other a long moment. She wore the same single braid and plain clothes she'd worn the prior day.

"What's your name?" Tintin asked.

"Qoya."*

"Qoya. Didn't we pass a town named Qoya?"

"Yes, you did." She volunteered no more information, which frustrated Tintin.

"Who are you? Why are you helping us?"

"Can't we talk about that on the road? We've got a long trip. And put your guns away. Those things are never helpful."

Tintin and the Captain glanced at each other and had a quick conversation with their eyes. Qoya's information about the fee had proven accurate; they'd asked around, and everyone had estimated roughly double what she'd asked. She spoke English and Spanish (and perhaps Quechua) fluently, and seemed to know the lay of the land, at least enough to bring poison darts; she'd clearly spent a significant amount of time in Peru. And they wondered if she was helping them out of a sense of gratitude to Tintin, for interceding the prior day. This girl was their best lead, their only lead.

Shrugging, Tintin shifted his gun to his back and followed Qoya onto a rope bridge. A few seconds later, the Captain did the same. The bridge creaked under their weight, and the wind seemed to strengthen. Tintin gripped the rope handles, wincing as splinters drove into his skin.

"Wait for me here, I'll be right back," Qoya said as they stepped off the bridge and onto a dirt path at the foothills of the Andes. She sprinted around a bend, her long dark braid and yellow poncho flapping in the breeze.

"Where's she off to?" the Captain asked as he carefully stepped off the bridge.

"I don't know… She told us to wait, said she'd be right back," Tintin replied. "Literally. She said, 'I'll be right back.'"

"So?"

"So, who is this girl? How does she know a phrase like 'be right back', or 'you get the jist'?"

"She said she'd explain once we're traveling, didn't she?"

"She did, but…" Tintin sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm nervous. My gut is saying not to trust her, and my gut is almost always right."

"No, you're wrong," said the Captain. "You're misinterpreting your gut. You're attracted to her, that's all."

Tintin groaned-this again. "I'm not-"

"Don't even try, lad. You've got butterflies in your stomach, you as good as said so."

"Captain, I have butterflies in my stomach because we just crossed a bridge that felt like it could snap at any moment, and because I'm worried we're walking into a trap!"

The Captain suddenly pointed. "Oh-look there!" Qoya had reappeared from around the bend, leading two llamas. "No trap, I guess. Just animals to carry our supplies. And bloody llamas, at that." He glanced at Tintin and smirked. "But judging from your face, it looks like you've still got butterflies fluttering around."

"Shut up," Tintin said, rubbing his stomach. A split second later, he realized that the Captain had seen him rub his stomach and his face was now positively gleeful. "Shut up," Tintin said again, feeling like a 10-year-old, but for some reason unable to stop himself. "I'm still a little nervous from crossing that bridge, is all."

"I crossed that bridge too, you know," said the Captain. "And I don't have butterflies. Time to fess up, lad: You're attracted to her." And with that, the captain swung his gun over his shoulder and went to help Qoya with the llamas.

*Pronounced: KOY-uh. This is a Quechua word, not actually a name, that translates to "Queen" (and the word "Inca" is actually the equivalent of "King"). It's also the name of a town in Peru.


	5. Chapter 5

**Apologies! I'm a day late, but here it is. I don't own Tintin! I don't own anything!**

When Tintin caught up, the Captain was engaged in a staring contest with one of the llamas. Qoya, who looked totally baffled, was saying "really, they're quite gentle, there's no reason to…"

She trailed off as the llama took a sudden chomp at Haddock's beard. Screaming in pain, the Captain slapped the llama, and received a faceful of spit in return.

Tintin caught Qoya's eye, and noticed a small smile fighting its way onto the corner of her mouth. He felt his own mouth twitch, and both of them quickly looked away.

He cleared his throat. "Come on, we've wasted enough time. Are we ready to go?"

"Ready," said Qoya, as the Captain, cursing under his breath, wiped his face with a handkerchief. The trio set off, on a dirt path lined with boulders on one side and cactuses on the other.

Tintin and Qoya fell in step next to each other, Tintin still carefully toting his gun, Qoya leading the llamas. His nerves were starting to fade, and Tintin felt entitled to some answers. "So, Qoya, where is our friend? And why would no one tell us, when they all seemed to know what happened?"

"It's true," said Qoya, "they're afraid. He's at Qorikancha-perdón, El Templo del-oh jeez." She shook her head and smacked her forehead, and Tintin felt a little piece of himself melt at the gesture. "The Temple of the Sun. Sorry, let me know if I do that again."

"Do what?"

"Translate Quechua into Spanish instead of English for you. It all gets mixed up in my brain sometimes."

Tintin's guard was slipping in spite of himself. He shot her a small smile. "I'm not about to criticize you for having mastered three languages. But I thought we saw Qorikancha in Cuzco?"

"That's just one temple. It used to be the most important one, since Cuzco was the capital of the Inca empire, but there were always lots of Qorikanchas. Like having a different church in every town. But now, the last Inca survivors, they're up in the mountains, hidden with the last real Qorikancha. And nobody would tell you about it because they're afraid."

"Who are they afraid of?"

"The Inca-the King of the Inca people. That's what 'Inca' actually means, 'King'. And supposedly, his vengeance is terrible when Indíginos tell gueros what gueros aren't supposed to know."

Tintin thought back to the man on the train who'd read the newspaper over his shoulder a few months prior. " _This will lead to trouble… you'll see if it doesn't!... Why can't we leave them in peace? What'd we say if the Egyptians or the Peruvians came over here and started digging up our kings?_ "

It was a valid point.

Qoya continued, "there are all these rumors of magical, mystical punishments-use your imagination-but personally, I think he just sends a few hitmen and spreads the rumors so that people will shut up around gueros."

"Gueros?"

"White people. Have people been calling you gringo? That's because they think you're from the States. You're a guero."

Tintin's head was spinning. "So you're telling me there's an Inca civilization, complete with a Temple of the Sun, hidden in the mountains? In these days?"

"Yup. Here, have a coca leaf. Chew it but don't swallow."

Tintin accepted the small, dried green leaf she handed him and held it up to the sunlight. He'd seen barrels of them, in markets and shops. "What for?"

"It'll help with the altitude."

"Oh, we already dealt with that. We both felt it on the train up to Jauga. We adjusted."

"It's going to get worse as we hike. Trust me, chew on that now so it won't be so bad later. And here, give one to your friend."

Realizing it would be quicker not to argue, Tintin followed her instructions, grimacing along with the Captain as they chewed the bitter, unfamiliar plant. He hurried to catch up with Qoya again, anxious to get all the answers he could.

"I still don't understand. How could this civilization survive so long, without being discovered?"

Qoya looked sideways at him. "The only people who haven't discovered it are white people. To everyone else in Peru, it's old news."

Chang would like that, Tintin thought, and made a mental note to put it in his next letter.

"It's still remarkable that they haven't all deserted it, no? That enough have stayed, and haven't moved to be closer to hospitals and such?"

"I suppose. They do have their own doctors there, though, and as a general rule, I think they're actually healthier than people who live closer to pollution and processed food."

"But still, for an ancient civilization to have survived all this time…" Tintin trailed off.

"Keep in mind that the Incas weren't actually that ancient," Qoya said. "They were contemporaries of the Spanish-Cortes and Pizarro and all them. 1500s. And the Incas were conquerors, too. The reason the Spanish fought so hard to conquer Cuzco was because the Incas had already conquered everyone else nearby. The structure for the Spanish to rule was already organized."

Was this girl a history professor, in addition to being a trilingual tour guide and part-time orange seller? Tintin gave his head a shake. "I keep forgetting the Inca empire was an empire."

"Oh, yes. And not particularly beloved by the people they conquered."

"It's the same story, everywhere. I wonder what makes some human beings need to conquer other human beings," Tintin said. Qoya looked at him in unmasked surprise, and Tintin gave a light laugh. "Said the Belgian."

"You're anti-Imperialist?"

"Very. I wasn't always, but then I… I saw some things. Met some people." He studied his hand. "Why does that surprise you?"

"Because you're pro-gun."

"But those are two completely different things!"

"Dijó el guero Belga," Qoya muttered under her breath. "Anyways," she continued, before he could ask for a translation, "It's true the Incas were conquerors and slavers, and I don't support either of those things, but there were some fundamental differences between them and the Spanish too."

"The Spanish had steel and gunpowder and smallpox?"

"Not just that." One of the llamas suddenly stopped; thrown off rhythm and still holding its lead, Qoya stumbled and nearly fell. Tintin caught her around the waist as her head collided with his chest. She scrabbled at his arms, gripping his sleeves as she regained her balance.

Be cool, Tintin told himself. Be normal, help her up like you would anybody, be normal. Move your hand off her stomach.

Don't smell her hair!

Qoya smiled at him as she righted herself. "Thanks," she said, and went to tend to the llama, cooing at it softly in Quechua.

Say something normal, Tintin told himself. Forget that scent!

"Differences between the Incas and the Spanish?" he asked as they began to walk again. Good job, he told himself.

"Oh. Yes. The Incas were horrible to the people they conquered, but in a way, they also respected them. They learned a lot from them, about architecture and agriculture, and they absorbed and preserved that knowledge. The Spanish just destroyed it and replaced it. And the Incas related to the earth-Pachamama-differently. The Spanish leveled and chopped and flattened everything. I think that's part of why this enclave has survived. The Incas built their architecture to bend around the earth, not the other way around. They were a tough people, but adaptable, and they knew what was happening when the Spanish came."

"So. Quechua people have to guard the secret, of Qorikancha in the mountains, and anyone who tells white people will be punished."

"That's right."

"But, Qoya"-he carefully avoided eye contact-"aren't you afraid too? You are Quechua, right? And I know I'm white."

Qoya took so long to answer that he worried he'd somehow offended her. He was on the verge of apologizing for whatever it could have been when she finally spoke. "I would be afraid alone. But, with you, I'm not afraid." Her dark eyes remained carefully on the path in front of them. Another piece of Tintin melted. He didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry I called you 'hija'" Tintin blurted out. Qoya looked up quizzically. "Back when we first met. I said 'hija' instead of 'niña'. I'm sorry I-I hope-" he groaned and kicked a rock. "I'm an orphan, so I know how that must have hurt."

"You're an orphan?"

"Yes."

Again, Qoya took a long time to respond; then she said, very quickly, "Thank you for protecting me from those men." It came out like one long word: "Thankyouforprotectingmefromthosemen."

Tintin snuck a look at her. Her dark eyes, too big for her face, were determinedly focused straight ahead. Her face was blank, but Tintin somehow knew that she was embarrassed, and that saying "you're welcome" would only embarrass her more.

What he did next surprised even him. He reached for the leather lead Qoya was holding to guide the llamas, and closed his hand over hers. Even through the red scarf still wrapped around her injured hand, he felt a slight shock that could not have been electrical. He swallowed. "Here, let me do that."

"I'm OK…" she started to reply, but trailed off as he tightened his grip on her hand. Her jaw flexed. "OK," she said. "Just for a bit."


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Tintin. I might, however, own a Tintin iphone case.**

As the sky began to darken, Qoya pointed out the ruins of a small tower where they could spend the night.

"It's called a 'chulpa', except, that's not right," she explained. "It's just a tomb, a funeral-what is that adjective?" She smacked her forehead again, and again, the gesture prompted a melting feeling somewhere in Tintin's chest. "A funeral-y-tower."

"Funerary?"

"Yes, thank you, fu-ne-rar-y tower." She said it slowly, enunciating every syllable. "My English vocabulary is that of an 11-year-old."

"You do pretty well. If you ask me." Tintin kept his eyes on the chulpa.

"Anyway. 'Chulpa' was what they called the wrappings they used for mummies, not the towers. Archaeologists got confused, and they've been called 'chulpas' ever since. Thanks again, white people." Tintin laughed.

The Captain was initially skittish at the prospect of sleeping above skeletons, but conceded that it was worth it to have something of a roof over their heads. He even volunteered to take the first watch. Qoya ducked into the small, circular stone structure, and Tintin, resolutely ignoring the Captain's smirks and winks, followed her, dragging one of the two small tents they'd loaded onto the llamas.

"Sleep well, you two!" the Captain called from outside.

"Why'd you bring that?" Qoya asked, and Tintin saw that she'd already set up her bedroll. "We don't need a tent in here."

Tintin felt himself go scarlet. "Well, you know - I just figured you could use some privacy."

"But the whole point of staying in the chulpa is that we don't need to set up the tent, and we won't have to take it down in the morning, so we can get going sooner." Qoya spoke matter-of-factly, using her teeth to undo the red scarf wrapped around her hand. She flexed her fingers and blew on the scratches.

"That's good, but - well-" Tintin raised his hands, palms up. "Wouldn't it be more… _proper_ if you stay in a tent?"

He saw her defenses rise behind her eyes. The air grew so tense, he heard a humming in his ears. "What, because I'm Quechua? You don't want there to be rumors you spent the night with an india?"

"No!" Tintin was sure the Captain was eavesdropping.

"What were you planning on doing the rest of the trip?" Qoya asked, her voice incredulous. "Did you buy two tents? God, what a waste of money… and the extra weight… No wonder you had so much stuff! ¡Aquellas llamas pobrecitas…!"

"It's not because you're Quechua and I'm not, it's because you're a girl and I'm not!"

After a brief silence, Qoya laughed. "Really?"

"Yes," Tintin said, feeling his pulse slow just a little.

"Dios mío. I'm sorry, Tintin. I grew up sharing a bunk bed with my little brother, so it's just not a big deal to me."

"I'm not your brother," Tintin said, and the air grew tense and seemed to hum again - only this time, the tension wasn't negative. It was terrifying and dizzying, but not negative, and he was sure Qoya felt it too. There was a short silence.

"OK." Qoya said. "You're right." Tintin looked up and saw that she was now resolutely studying her hand, refusing to look up. "No eres mi hermano," she muttered.

"How's your hand?" Tintin asked. "Do you need to clean it? I can ask the Captain for a splash of alcohol."

"Thanks, but it's OK. I disinfected it right after I met you. It really wasn't scratched that bad, I think I'll leave it open to the air tomorrow."

Tintin nodded. "We do have some small bandages, you're welcome to them."

"Gracias. But, look, back to the tent issue-I still think it's a waste of time to use the tent in the chulpa. So, here. I'll sleep by the door, and you can go all the way to the other wall, and-look, we can stack up our packs and supplies in between us, so it won't be like we're-"

"No, you should be by the back wall, and I'll be here," Tintin interrupted.

"What? Why?"

"So I can be in between you and the door."

Qoya looked like she was trying not to grin. "...Why?" she asked.

"For safety," Tintin said.

Qoya looked down, then away. When she finally looked back, she was biting her lip to keep from smiling. Tintin felt his hackles rise. "...because this way you'll know if I get up to pee?" she asked innocently.

"No-well, actually, that doesn't hurt," Tintin said, trying to play along. "But even more importantly, this way, if someone tries to murder us, me and my gun will be between you and them."

Qoya's smile vanished. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes darted around the room. "Please tell me you're joking," she finally said.

"Why would I be joking? It's important to think about safety."

"Yes, it is, which is why I'm really hoping you're joking." She tugged on her braid nervously.

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to sleep… with your gun? You're not going to leave it with the Captain? What, will it be under the covers with you?"

"Nooooooo," Tintin was playing her game now, looking at her with "are you crazy?" eyes.

"Do you understand that your gun shoots bullets, and that bullets kill people? How on earth is your sleeping next to a deadly weapon going to make us safer?"

"Well…" Tintin felt in control now. He spoke slowly and condescendingly. "It's no more dangerous than your poison darts. It's not going to walk over to you and fire itself. It'll be next to me, so that if anything happens, I can grab it."

"You're an IDIOT!" Qoya was screaming now. She flung her braid back behind her shoulders. "My darts will be packed safely away, you'd have to know exactly where they are. Don't you know that it's, like, a million times more likely that your gun will be used AGAINST you?!"

"Do you want to hear all my stories about how I've used guns to defend myself?"

"I give up." Qoya threw up her hands. "No puedo entrar en esta pelea. Do whatever you want. I'll sleep over here, against the wall, if that's what you want. You win." She bent and began to drag her bedding to the other side of the chulpa.

Tintin scrambled to help her, but she jerked away. She set herself up against the far wall and began stacking extra bedding and her backpacks in between herself and Tintin, building a wall as high as she could. "Maybe that tent wasn't such a bad idea."

"Oh, good, you want to set up-"

"NO!" Qoya shouted.

Tintin whirled around and devoted his attention to setting up his own bed. She'd said "you win", but he didn't feel like he had. Qoya was banging around loudly, muttering to herself in Spanish. Internally, he debated hollering at her to be quiet.

He turned his head and opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips. She was carefully trying to balance one knapsack atop another, chewing on her lower lip and swearing in Spanish when the pack wouldn't cooperate. That lower lip… it caught Tintin's attention in a way he couldn't deny, and he turned away, pulled off his shirt, scrambled into bed, and pulled the sleeping bag up over his head, whispering "no no no no no no no no" under his breath and hoping that those wretched butterflies would get the message.

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 **Won't you please leave me a review? [puppy whine.]**

 **Have a wonderful week, everyone!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A day late again… so sorry. But here it is! I don't own anything!**

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 _Professor Calculus was stooped over a vase of colorful skulls. "Amazing! An Inca plant in full bloom!" he muttered, oblivious to the man standing directly behind him, about to thrust a spear through his heart._

 _Tintin leapt forward, screaming "NO!", and tackled the Professor to the ground. He landed roughly on top of him, and when he looked up, everything had changed. He was in a magnificent stone temple. A man in yellow sat on a throne. Tintin barely glimpsed him before a spear jabbed at his shoulder. He looked around; half a dozen men, all armed with spears, surrounded him. More closed ranks behind them. Tintin heard a whimper of fear; he looked down. Instead of the Professor, Qoya lay beneath him, her hands clutching his shirt, bunching the fabric into knots at his collarbone. Panic filled her dark eyes, too big for her face. He touched her cheek._

 _A spear jabbed at Tintin, and he pushed it away. "Give us the girl," said the man, jabbing the spear again. "She has betrayed us. You can let us have her, or we can force you away." More spears-Tintin now counted ten-appeared, and moved menacingly closer. The only thing between them and Qoya was his body. How long could he hold them off? What would they do to her? To him?_

 _The dream changed. Qoya towered over Tintin and the Captain. "Desculpe, señores, do you have licenses for those guns?"_

 _Tintin and the Captain bent over double, laughing. "Licenses… you've taken this too far, Qoya!" Tintin said, wiping his eyes. Qoya raised her hand and a burst of flame engulfed him. He could feel the heat searing his skin-_

"Ugh!" Tintin sat up, panting. A ray of sunlight fell directly onto the shirt he'd rolled into a pillow. "What a horrible nightmare," he muttered, kicking his sleeping bag to the side. Qoya was nowhere to be seen, her blanket messily bunched. His head was foggy, but he was starting to worry-why had they let him sleep in? The Captain should have woken him to take the second watch.

He pulled on his blue cotton shirt and hurried outside, trying to tamp down the fear rising in his chest. "Captain!" he hollered. "Ahoy there! Qoya!" The echo reverberated, taunting him: "...oya! ...oya! ...oya!" The llamas, he noted, were also gone-along with all their supplies.

Now biting back panic, Tintin retreated to the chulpa for his gun. To his horror, it had vanished. Frantic, he turned his poncho inside out, and even searched under Qoya's bedroll, praying this was all a prank she was playing. All he found was her red scarf. He knelt, clutching the scarf, his head swimming.

"Wooah! Wooah! Wooah!" Urgent barking from Snowy interrupted his paralysis. He sprinted towards the sound, Snowy's howls guiding him behind a boulder. God bless Snowy and his nose! Maybe they were enjoying breakfast without him. Maybe the Captain had taken Qoya for a stroll to try to weasel out whether she felt as confused about Tintin as he felt about her. Maybe-

Tintin screeched to a halt as he rounded the corner. Before him lay the Captain, bound and gagged. There was no sign of Qoya.

Hurriedly, Tintin pulled off the gag. "Captain! What in the world-where's Qoya?"

"Cut the cackle and get me out of this before I go crazy!" the Captain screamed. Frantic, Tintin undid the knots. The Captain jumped up, red-faced, and tore at his clothing, his arms grasping and clawing at his own back, until- "Hooray! Got it!" he crowed, and produced a lizard. "This miserable reptile has spent the night waltzing along my spine."

"Focus, Captain," Tintin said, grasping his forearms. "What happened?" Every second the Captain stalled, chasing lizards or lighting up his pipe, was another second away from Qoya. He tugged at his hair, not sure what he would do if the Captain chose this moment to tease him about her.

Fortunately, the Captain didn't make light of the situation. He quickly told how he'd been ambushed during his watch.

"But where's Qoya?"

"What do you mean, where's Qoya?"

"She's gone, Captain." Tintin couldn't hide the tremor in his voice, and was grateful that the Captain pretended not to notice. "She vanished. So have the llamas, and our supplies, and our guns!"

"Our guns?" The Captain swore. "Thundering typhoons, what now?"

"We have to go after Qoya. Guns or no guns." Tintin twisted Qoya's scarf in his hands-and that gave him an idea.

"Snowy!... Here, Snowy!" Snowy bounded towards them, and Tintin knelt. "It's up to you now, Snowy." He held out Qoya's scarf for Snowy to sniff. "We've got to find her. Go on!... Seek her!"

Snowy seemed to hear the note of desperation in Tintin's voice. He took off, running with a focus and determination he usually lacked. Tintin and the Captain followed, the Captain grumbling as the terrain became increasingly rocky. Tintin clutched the scarf. It was soft and warm. Nothing like Qoya, he thought wryly, and sped up.


	8. Chapter 8

**What's this? A day early and a double update?**

 **Happy weekend, everyone! I own nothing.**

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Two agonizing hours later, Tintin spotted a group rounding a bend in the trail directly below them. "Stop! There they are!" he said, and the Captain screeched to a halt behind him. "The path doubles back down there," he whispered, his voice cracking-how had they gone all this way without water?- "They'll pass directly below us…"

Tintin scanned the terrain, a plan forming in his mind. "If we took a shortcut down the cliff we could surprise them.… Come on, Captain!" he said, and moved before the Captain could argue, although he managed to hiss "We'll break our necks, that's a certainty!"

Tintin had always liked rock climbing, but going up was easier than going down, and he didn't relish the stakes in this particular instance. The big, easily clamber-able boulders became fewer and farther between, and the cliff became steeper. He realized he was still clutching Qoya's scarf, and tied it around his neck to free his hands. A rip was starting on the shin of his right trouser leg, and he wondered when he'd ever have a chance to wash his clothes.

He skidded several feet and felt the skin on his shin tear along with the trouser leg. "Find some other way, Captain, this is too steep," he said in a low tone over his shoulder. Then he put himself into the hands of fate and let himself slide the rest of the way down the cliff to a low, flat boulder. He winced at the pain in his knees as he landed, but smiled at his timing-the kidnappers were now about to walk right beneath him, oblivious.

His brief moment of victory ended quickly. "HELP!" the Captain screamed, and tumbled headfirst down the side of the cliff. He landed in a heap in front of the stunned kidnappers-men who carried their guns, aimed and ready.

The man at the front of the group, who was wearing a bright red poncho, strolled to the Captain and shoved the rifle right into his belly. The Captain raised his hands, but his scowl stayed firmly in place.

"¿Dónde está tu amigo?" the man asked.

"¡No sé!" the Captain shot back, and Tintin felt a swell of pride in his friend. He crouched, waiting in silence as the band of kidnappers hurried to catch up and see what was going on.

Then the llamas passed directly beneath him, and Tintin clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.

Qoya was tied and draped over a llama. Her head, dangling upside down, twisted to see what was going on. "¿Qué está pasando?" she demanded. The man leading the llamas turned and barked at her in Quechua; Qoya fired back a stream of curses in three languages, her protests growing more vehement as the Captain came into her field of vision. "Captain!" she screamed. "Stop! Stop! Just tell them! Please!" she wailed, writhing, then: "¡Baja the gun! ¡Por favor! I'll do anything! ¡Bájalo!"

A man ran to her and forced a rag into her mouth. Qoya bit and spat and flailed, and the llama stumbled. A bad fall could break her neck, but she continued to scream and thrash. White stars appeared in the periphery of Tintin's vision. He forced himself to take a deep breath as the llamas continued forward.

A man clutching the other gun-clearly the rear guard-finally came dashing up the path. Tintin jumped from the boulder and dashed him to the ground. He rolled away, stunned, and Tintin reclaimed the gun.

He took a fraction of a second to steady himself, then confirmed that the gun was loaded. The Captain was watching and waiting as the man in red twisted the rifle closer.

"You know," the man said, impervious to the scene Qoya was creating. He twisted the gun again and continued in English. "Tell us where he is, or die."

"Fiddle-de-dee to you… and abracadabra… and hocus pocus… And fee fi fo fum," the Captain grinned, as Tintin aimed the rifle and stood ready to fire. "And since you're so worried about my friend, take a look behind you!"

The man in red turned and saw Tintin. His face was unreadable. Gradually he removed his own gun from the Captain's stomach, but he did not lower it.

"Captain." Tintin's voice felt alien to him as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. "Please help Qoya down and untie her."

The Captain lifted Qoya from the llama with a "glad to see you, little'un" and held her in a bear hug as she continued to kick like a possessed person. Tintin's insides twisted.

"Take out her gag so she can breathe properly." The Captain obliged, and Qoya calmed marginally as he went to work on the rope that bound her hands. She looked up and met Tintin's eyes, and he noticed that her hair was down.

He gave his head a minuscule shake and commanded himself to refocus.

Then she bit down on her lower lip, hard, and now, against all sanity and reason, that lip was becoming all Tintin could see in the world. It was full, and dark, and right now, wet with tears.

There was a roaring in his ears. Part of him floated up out of his body and looked down at himself, mentally screaming "You IDIOT! What a time to notice her lip! Stop staring! Stop staring! Get out of this, and look at her lip LATER!"

The other part of him, the part rooted to the earth, could only stare.

And too late, the two parts reunited and he realized that the leader of the group of kidnappers was now aiming his gun to shoot right between Tintin's eyes, and they were in a standoff.


	9. Chapter 9

Tintin and the kidnapper wearing the red poncho stood paces apart, Qoya and the Captain behind the man in red. Nobody moved, other than Qoya. She continued to sob, begging them both to lower their guns as the Captain held her in his lap and chafed her wrists. "Shh, Qoya, it'll be OK," Tintin heard him murmuring, and felt oddly jealous.

 _Get it together_ , he commanded himself.

The man in the red poncho advanced slowly. Tintin held his ground. "¿Qué hacemos ahora?" he asked, a sneer creeping onto his face. "What do we do? Gringos y Indígenos, esta no va a funcionar." He looked at Tintin, then at Qoya, and snickered. "Nunca jamás ha funcionado." His words seemed aimed at Qoya, though she didn't react.

"Let us take Qoya, and you can have everything else. The llamas, the supplies, everything," Tintin said.

"No." A head shake. "Qoya es el problema. Todo lo demás… not important."

"Stand down now," Tintin commanded. His voice did not shake. The kidnappers were regrouping behind the man in red, preparing to surround the Captain and Qoya. "Stand down, or I fire."

"NO!" screamed Qoya, and jumped forward, only to trip on the rope that still bound her ankles. She landed face first in the dirt, and the Captain hurried to right her and untie her ankles.

"You will not fire," the man in red said softly, and a humorless smile spread across his face. "You will maybe hit the girl."

With a start, Tintin realized he was right. Even if he found his mark, the bullet might pass through the man in red and straight into Qoya or the Captain.

The man in red saw Tintin's realization, and with wicked glee, started to stride forward-and then stopped, held back by, as far as Tintin could tell, something invisible. He turned to the side. His nose twitched.

Qoya launched herself at him. She tackled him around the middle, catching the rifle from underneath and aiming it up. A shot rang out into the air. The man's head hit the boulder behind him, and he went down.

The Captain grabbed the rifle and frantically backpedaled until he and Tintin aimed at the group of kidnappers from both sides.

Two of the group ran like hell, and the Captain let them go. Three remained. One, a man in a yellow poncho, grabbed Qoya from behind. Using her as a shield, he lifted her feet off the ground.

"Let her GO!" Tintin screamed as Qoya punched and kicked. Tintin advanced on the group, ready to retaliate by holding his gun to one of their heads. Two took off at a sprint.

The one remaining kidnapper, still holding Qoya in the air, realized that he stood no chance. He slowly started to lower her, and Tintin felt his pulse slow for the first time all day.

Then, at the last moment, the man shoved Qoya over the side of the path. She tumbled down, letting loose just one scream of fear. The last kidnapper sprinted away as Tintin launched himself after Qoya.


	10. Chapter 10

Tintin skidded to a stop, having barely managed to stay upright. Qoya had tumbled into a boulder, and now lay in its shadow, making small movements but not trying to stand. Tintin knelt by her side and touched her arm. She seemed dazed, possibly even concussed-all entirely reasonable, given what had just happened to her.

One step at a time. She was alive, and she was moving. Was she physically hurt? A bump was swelling on her temple-she winced when he gently brushed it with his fingertip-but no open wounds.

"Can you see me OK? How many fingers?"

"Three," she said, and tried to sit up.

"Not yet, lie down just another minute. What's your name?"

"Qoya."

"What day is it?"

"I have no idea."

Tintin realized he didn't know either. "OK, what year?"

"1947."

"What's my name?"

"Idiot."

Relief spread through Tintin as Qoya smiled up at him. "OK, do you want to try sitting up?"

Qoya nodded and slowly propped herself onto her elbows. Tintin slipped an arm behind her shoulders as she winced and rose to sit. She drew her knees to her chest, poking and prodding her own legs. "I've got some major bruises, but I don't think anything's broken."

"Well, thank God for that."

"Can I try standing?"

"Sit for one more minute."

"Yooooeee!" the captain hollered down to them. "Everybody OK?"

"We think so!" Tintin shouted up.

"Do you need help getting up here?"

"No, stay where you are, but keep a sharp lookout in case they come back!"

The Captain nodded and raised one of the rifles again, his eyes narrowed on the retreating forms of the kidnappers.

Qoya was now itching to stand. "Please, I need water."

"OK, yes, let's go." Tintin knelt beside her, one arm around her waist, and offered her his other hand. She interlaced her fingers with his and slowly, shakily, stood. They paused for a second. Qoya leaned against the boulder, her eyes closed, her hand still grasping his. Then she nodded, and carefully, one inch at a time, the pair made their way back up to the Captain.

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Qoya revived a bit after she'd had water. She now sat cross-legged on a flat slab of rock overlooking the valley. Tintin stood, unwrapping some of their packed food. He handed a cooked potato to Qoya. A few yards away, the Captain paced back and forth on the path, keeping watch on the llamas and supplies. Tintin knew he felt guilty about the previous night, even though there was nothing he could have done against a team of seven.

"Can we work a stop in a creek into the plan today?" Qoya asked as she gobbled the potato. "I need to wash this whole experience off me."

"Absolutely, but… are you sure you want to keep going?" Tintin asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that I wouldn't blame you if you want to turn around and head back to town."

"Straight into the arms of those guys?" Qoya barked a laugh. "I don't think so." She shoved the rest of the potato into her mouth. "Can I have one more?"

"You need some protein." Tintin pried the lid off a tin of beans and handed it to her.

She accepted it with a groan. "I hate tinned beans…" Sighing, she reached up to rub the back of her neck. Her eyes widened.

"What is it?"

Qoya didn't answer, just slowly lowered her hand. Her fingers were bright red, smeared with blood.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for the lovely review, blackalligator! "Spirit of Hergé with my own touch" is exactly what I'm going for, and it made my day to see you review this story as such. I'm glad it's working for you!**

 **I keep forgetting to say this, but I do NOT own Tintin. I do own a Snowy stuffie, though, and I just love it.**

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Tintin reacted with calm efficiency, as he always did to medical issues. "Don't panic," he said. "Let me see." He knelt next to her on the rock, and she angled the back of her neck towards him. She swept her hair to the side, and Tintin swallowed hard and commanded himself to stay focused.

The wound was wide, but not deep. "It'll be OK," Tintin reported. "It looks like you scraped yourself really well on the way down that cliff."

"Must have been a well-placed rock, to get my neck and nowhere else."

"Could be worse. You don't need stitches. Let me just grab the medical kit, I'll disinfect you and bandage it. Captain?" Tintin called. "Can you bring the first aid kit, please?"

"What's wrong, lass?" Captain Haddock asked, bounding towards them with a small white bag in hand.

Qoya explained as Tintin uncorked the bottle of mercurochrome. The Captain leaned their guns against the boulder and joined Qoya on the rock, wincing as he looked at the wound. A breeze kicked up, and Qoya's long, dark hair was suddenly everywhere. Tintin's breath caught.

"Captain, can you look in my pack, small side pocket, and get me a ribbon for this hair?" Qoya asked, to Tintin's relief. The Captain galloped off.

"OK, this is going to hurt. You ready?" Tintin asked. Qoya nodded. She gathered her hair over her shoulder and twisted it, gasping in pain as Tintin dabbed the ointment onto her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, pulling on her hair, and Tintin reached around and took one of her hands in his. She clung to him hard.

"Breathe," Tintin whispered, and gently blew on the wound. Goosebumps surfaced on her skin, and with a start, Tintin realized how close they were. He held her in a half-hug as she clutched his hand to her stomach. His other hand settled on her shoulder, keeping the fabric of her shirt away from the wound, his fingertips lightly skimming her skin. He experienced a powerful urge to lean forward, just a few inches, and press his lips to the skin between her neck and her shoulder.

Instead, he blew on her neck again and felt her breath catch. "Breathe," he whispered again.

Gradually, Qoya's body relaxed. She breathed deeply, then said "I'm OK" and started to chew on her lower lip. Tintin stared at her lip, totally mesmerized, for a full five seconds before he realized what he was doing. He jerked his hand from hers and looked away. Fighting back a rising sense of panic - why couldn't he control this thing he had for her lip? - Tintin bandaged her neck. The two sat there, neither willing to move yet.

Tintin dug his hands into his pockets, wishing his fingers were still touching Qoya's skin, holding her hand. Instead, he found… what was it? Oh yes, the talisman that strange Quechua man had given him. He pulled it out, studying the beautifully patterned sun.

The man had said it would protect him… or maybe whoever wore it?

Tintin leaned forward again. "I have something for you," he told Qoya, who also seemed lost in thought.

"Oh?"

Tintin passed her the talisman. "I'm not sure if there's anything to it, but a man, I think he was Quechua, gave it to me. Said it was protective. Or maybe just pretty. Anyways, it's yours now."

Qoya studied it in her hand. "Couldn't hurt," she said abruptly; then, more gently, "It _is_ pretty."

She undid the clasp and passed it back to him. "Go on, let's see how it looks." His hands trembling only very slightly, Tintin fastened the chain to her neck. Qoya turned toward him briefly, smiling; the talisman settled at the base of her throat. It wasn't exactly jewelry, but for some reason, it lit up her eyes.

Tintin wanted to ask her about her past, but he didn't know how to start. He was sure, after seeing how she'd lost control when guns were pointed at people, and how she'd raged at him the previous night in the chulpa, that she must have had first-hand experience with bullets. He wondered if it was why she was an orphan.

As if reading his thoughts, Qoya leaned forward and ran her fingers along the rifles that Captain Haddock had left leaning against the rock. She pulled them up onto her lap, staring at them with a mix of fascination and sadness. Tintin opened his mouth, not sure what he intended to say. "Qoya..."

Without warning, Qoya flung both guns off the overlook. Tintin scrambled for them in vain, and watched, stunned, as they disappeared into the river a thousand feet below.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you for the lovely review, Guest, whoever you are! It made my day. I'll take this opportunity to remind everyone that reviews, favorites, and follows are the only compensation fanfic writers receive. If you are enjoying this story, please take 30 seconds to let me know in one of those ways. It'll make my day, and it will help others find this story too.**

 **I don't own Tintin! Enjoy!**

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"Are you crazy?!" Tintin screamed. He lay flat on his stomach, his hands grasping off the edge of the rock uselessly as the guns disappeared. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Putting all of our safety first. Especially my own," Qoya answered. She slid off the boulder and rolled her neck experimentally.

"You have no right!"

"No right to do what? Stay safe? Not die? Not watch other people die? Not get woken up in the middle of the night with a deadly weapon in my face and a man whispering 'don't scream', all because some IDIOT insisted on sleeping with a gun next to his bed?"

They'd held his gun to her face? Tintin's rejoinder died on his lips.

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Qoya said. "You were asleep. You missed all that. I won't say I told you so."

Tintin was silent.

"I TOLD you so!" Qoya screamed, clearly unable to stop herself. "I told you! Remember? 'It's, like, a million times more likely your gun will be used against you.' Or your GUIDE, I should have said!"

"What's going on?" the Captain had reappeared, an assortment of Qoya's hair ribbons in his hand. "What's going on?" he repeated. Then - "where are our guns?"

"Ask Qoya," Tintin spat. "Ask her why she threw them into the river!"

The Captain ran to the edge of the overlook and looked down, then back at Tintin in disbelief. Tintin nodded and rolled his eyes.

"Do you realize," Qoya said, speaking low and slow, "that if you hadn't brought guns onto the scene, they would have had to tie me up and gag me without the assistance of a gun in my face? And that that would have been nearly impossible, since I knew where my darts were and they DIDN'T?" She picked up a stone and threw it against the boulder as hard as she could. "Do you realize that even if they'd managed that, I could have struggled and screamed when they carried me out? And that even if they'd successfully gotten me out, you could have ambushed them much easier if NOBODY had had a gun? And that guy wouldn't have had any reason to use me as a shield, and then throw me over the side, if you hadn't been pointing a gun at him?"

She paused to catch her breath, then screamed, "¡Nada de esto habría pasado si ustedes no hubieran traído malditos GUNS!"

There was a short pause, and then Tintin said, "sorry, I'm not sure if you realize, that was in Span..."

"I said none of this would have happened if you hadn't brought along your goddamn GUNS! And you understood me just fine!" She picked up another rock and hurled it at Tintin, missing by several feet in her rage.

"Hey! Stop it!" Tintin advanced on Qoya, and she stepped back. "Maybe if you'd slept with a gun near YOU, you could have used it to defend yourself!"

"Oh, right, like you defended me?" her voice bit.

"Just calm down! We're all fine now!"

"We're all fine now because I noticed that the guy who kidnapped me was about to sneeze!" Qoya let out a manic laugh. "Did you even notice? The fact that we're alive is because of a well-timed sneeze, and how quickly I acted when I saw it coming?" She hurled another stone. Tintin felt the last thread of his patience snap.

"Back off. I just tracked you for hours - stop throwing rocks at me! - and attacked a person, and threw myself off a cliff for you!" He was yelling now too. "And do YOU realize that if you'd slept in the tent like I told you to, they wouldn't have been able to kidnap you without waking me up? So really, next time, if you want to stay safe, just do as I say!"

Qoya's jaw dropped. Her head bobbed back and forth, looking to the Captain, then back at Tintin. There was a long silence. Tintin breathed heavily, his brow knitted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry.

"You really just said that," Qoya said finally. She shook her head. "I'm not dreaming or anything. I was attacked, and you _actually_ just blamed me for it." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm speechless. That's a first. Congratulations." She stalked off, pausing to call over her shoulder, "My fee just tripled."


	13. Chapter 13

"Can we just go on without her?" Tintin hissed.

"We don't know where we're going."

Tintin stubbed his toe on a heavy rock and swore. Qoya, about two hundred yards ahead with the llamas, turned her head briefly, then immediately looked away again. Tintin considered picking up the rock and throwing it at her.

"Can we go back and find another guide?" he asked, not troubling to keep his voice low.

"Are you being serious, or are you just being angry?"

"Can't I be both?"

Captain Haddock sighed, then carefully rearranged his face to be emotionless. _He's usually the one with the angry face_ , Tintin thought and felt his anger rise still more. He, Tintin, was supposed to be the calm, in control, poker-faced one, talking down the Captain from the temper tantrum of the moment. What was happening to him? He kicked another rock.

"Look. Do you want to turn around and walk straight into those kidnappers' hands?"

Tintin was silent.

"Best case scenario, we waste at least 4 days finding another guide. Let's just pay her the extra money, you know I've plenty…"

"It's not the money I care about. You know that."

"Then the question you have to ask yourself is, do you want to rescue Cuthbert? Or do you care more about getting even with Qoya?"

Tintin looked down, his cheeks red. He'd entirely forgotten about whatever poor Professor Calculus might be experiencing. There was a short silence, and then - "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"What was that?"

The Captain was grinning now, and Tintin allowed himself a small, self-deprecatory smile as well. "But seriously," he asked, shaking his head, "what are we going to do without the guns?"

"Yes, I agree, that's the most worrying part. I wonder..."

"Where's Snowy?" How could he not have noticed until now that Snowy was nowhere to be seen?

"He couldn't climb down with you. Hell, _I_ couldn't climb down with you. I left him on a ledge, I'm sure he's..."

"Hello, Snowy!" they heard Qoya call from around the bend, and Snowy answered with a happy yip. Tintin suddenly couldn't wait to see Snowy, wanted the familiar blur of white buzzing around his legs.

"What's that? A helicopter, out here?" the Captain squinted at a large, looming shape overhead.

"No, that's… oh no… Qoya, she said, oh no, I think it's a condor…" Tintin broke into a run as the gigantic bird circled lower. When he came around the bend, Qoya was removing a rope from a pack.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tintin snapped.

"Going to get Snowy," Qoya said, her voice too nonchalant.

"That's great. First, can you retrieve our guns so that I can shoot that damn bird before he devours Snowy?"

"What are you talking about?" Qoya dropped the attempt at nonchalance.

"Look." Tintin pointed skyward.

Qoya glanced up. "The condor?"

"Yes, the condor. Really brilliant, Qoya, discarding the guns like that."

"You would shoot that bird, wouldn't you!"

"To save Snowy? You bet I would."

Qoya shook her head and bit her lower lip again - GOD, that lip. At least her hair was now tied back. "Didn't you do any research at all before you came here?"

"Research?" What was she talking about?

"Condors, they're - damn, what's the word…?" Qoya shook her head. "Aya mikhuq - carroñeros - damn!" She smacked her forehead. "They eat dead things." She bit her lip again.

"Oh." Silence. Then - "scavengers," Tintin said in a small voice.

"That's it. Scavengers. It's just checking Snowy out because he's been staying still. He'll leave once he sees Snowy is alive. Also, condors are sacred to Quechua people, in case, you know, that matters at all to you."

Sure enough, and as if on cue, the condor broke its circle and soon drifted completely out of sight. Relieved as he was about Snowy, Tintin felt his temper rise as Qoya snorted.

"Really. A half hour with an encyclopedia of Peru would have killed you?" she said, and started the short climb up to retrieve Snowy.

 _Thanks for reading! And yep, if you're wondering, that was a bit of a dig at Hergé :-)_


	14. Chapter 14

_Tintin looked around; half a dozen men, all armed with spears, surrounded him. More closed ranks behind them. Tintin heard a whimper of fear; he looked down. Qoya lay beneath him, her hands clutching his shirt, bunching the fabric into knots at his collarbone. Panic filled her dark eyes, too big for her face._

 _The dream changed. The house was dark, damp. People were talking in low tones, voices fading in and out. He caught only snatches, fragments of conversations: "scarlet… mercifully fast… full recovery… horrible to wake up… he couldn't seem to die…" Someone laid a gentle, so gentle, hand on his arm. "Tintin, wake up…"_

Tintin sat bolt upright, and his forehead smacked into Qoya's. Tintin swore in pain; Qoya tumbled backwards, clapping her hand over her mouth to muffle a scream. The Captain, sleeping peacefully a few feet away, shifted slightly and muttered something about splicing the mainbrace.

Tintin massaged his temple, muttering curses under his breath. It was still dark out; Qoya was curled in a ball on the floor of the tent, rubbing her forehead. They mustn't wake the Captain, Tintin simply couldn't face the taunts about catching Qoya in their tent. Qoya was in their tent. Why, exactly, was Qoya in their tent?

"What are you doing in here?" Tintin hissed. "You're supposed to be on watch!" Qoya started to answer, but Tintin gestured to the Captain with a shushing motion. Seizing Qoya's arm, he scrambled outside.

It was a beautiful, moonless night. Hyper-alert, Tintin felt every star as a pinprick. Qoya was still massaging her forehead. "We'll probably both have a lump, come morning…" she muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." Qoya dropped her hand.

"No, go ahead. You clearly have feelings about the forehead lumps. What is it you want to say? How is this one my fault?"

"I didn't..." Qoya shook her head. "I don't have anything to say. I was just thinking out loud. I do that."

"Then think out loud and tell me, what the hell you were doing in my tent? Watching me sleep?"

"I wasn't watching you sleep! That would be - just - weird!"

"Then what?" Tintin crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

"I… was on watch. I was just up, pacing. I wasn't spying on you or anything, but I heard you, sort of - well, it sounded like you were having a nightmare…"

Tintin felt the blood drain from his face. He thought back to his nightmare… nightmares. The one with Qoya, that was the second time. And the other… well, that one had been with him more than a decade, would probably always be with him…. Had he sleep-talked? What had she heard?

"Did I say anything?" he asked.

"You were definitely talking, but I couldn't make out any words except 'mum' and 'dad'." She looked up and met his eyes. Tintin felt his own cloud over. He wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't ready for this.

He turned back to the tent. Qoya followed him, reached for his arm. "Tintin..."

"Thanks for waking me up," Tintin said as he pulled his arm out of her reach and ducked back into the tent, zipping it securely behind him.

.

.

.

Tintin rose early the following morning, having tried and failed to fall asleep once more. He bathed in a nearby stream, wincing at the cold water. Soon, they would reach the snowline, and baths might have to stop altogether… He thought back to when he and the Captain had been stranded in the desert, and decided this was better. At least they weren't thirsty.

An enormous spider scurried from the leg of his trousers as he pulled them on. He noted its yellow body and made a mental note to ask Qoya whether it was poisonous. Assuming, of course, that she was talking to him. Assuming - of _course_ \- that _he_ was talking to _her_.

He stuck his head under the mini-waterfall one more time, then shook his head, spraying water droplets everywhere, feeling braced and energized by the cold water. Then he gathered his shirt and shoes, turned to walk back to camp, and, he was barely even surprised, his eyes landed on Qoya, who stood a few yards away, holding a bar of soap. It was a good thing she hadn't appeared a minute or two earlier; she must have come while his head was under the waterfall, or he would have heard her.

Oddly, he wasn't angry at her anymore. He just felt emotionally drained. The vitality he'd felt from the cold water vanished. He was too exhausted even to feel awkward. It made no sense; he should have been furious, after she'd invaded his tent the prior night.

Her face registered none of its usual scorn, and for once she wasn't hurling an insult or barb. Her mouth was open; she looked slightly stunned. Tintin tilted his head… what was up with her? Then he felt her gaze traveling over his bare chest and shoulders. Goosebumps sprang up on the back of his neck.

Their eyes met for a split second before Qoya looked away and marched determinedly to the stream, twisting and pulling her hair to her mouth and gnawing nervously on her braid.

He left her alone, grinning and re-energized in spite of himself. Maybe, he mused, she would hereafter be a little less self-righteous about the two-tents issue. She had, after all, just proven not immune to the fact that she was a girl and he was not.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Thank you for the lovely review, Tintastic01! Tintin fandom might be small right now, but I love knowing there are people out there. The hits I'm getting for this story are incredibly international: 19 countries and counting. That makes my head spin. A giant THANK YOU to everyone for reading (and please, hit "fave" and leave a review if you haven't already! It's the only compensation I get! The sooner you do it, the sooner I'll stop whining about it!)**_

 _ **I don't own Tintin!**_

They reached the snow line a few days later, pausing to bundle up more and more as the air grew frigid. It even smelled cold, Tintin thought, as they strapped on snowshoes to cross an area at the bottom of a ravine where fresh snow had recently collected. It was still very slow going because of the llamas, but Qoya said there was no other way.

"It's a two-half-hitch," the Captain said as he anchored Qoya's snowshoes in place. For the past few nights, he'd been teaching her sailor knots. She'd enthusiastically mastered the basics, and was ready for something more complicated.

Qoya had been quiet and distant with Tintin, but not unfriendly. With the Captain, over their various knots, she'd been downright amicable. If Tintin hadn't known better, he would have said she was feeling shy about him.

Qoya paused as they came to a very narrow gully. In a low voice, she said "We have to be careful here. They say that even loud noises can cause an avalanche. Keep your voices low."

"I thought that was a myth," Tintin said.

"I think it is too, but do you want to test it?"

Tintin gave her a small smile. "Point taken."

"Ok, little'un, we'll watch it," the Captain said, and painstakingly, the three started to pick their way forward.

Tintin took the llamas from Qoya, his hand barely grazing hers. "Have you ever seen an avalanche?" he whispered.

"Yes, a few times, from far away. Have you?"

"No." In all his travels, this was one thing he hadn't witnessed. "What's it like?"

"Scary." Qoya shook her head. "The thing is, people think it's a lot of loose snow that tumbles down the mountain at the same time, but it's really one giant sheet of ice that slides down. Like a plate. And that kicks up a good amount of loose snow, as it slides down, but that's not what's dangerous. The plate is what's dangerous."

"What's the Quechua word?"

"Lluqlla. That could also be a landslide."

"Luluk-a-what?"

"Lluqlla." Qoya grinned.

"How about Spanish?"

"Avalancha."

"Ah, that one I can do."

Qoya smiled again, and Tintin felt that melting feeling in his chest, even though it was freezing.

"What are you supposed to do if you're in one?"

"If you can, get out of the way. Like, if one were to happen now, we would…." She looked around. "Head for that boulder we passed, and try to shelter behind it."

This was good, really good, Tintin thought. It was the longest conversation they'd had in days, and neither was yelling. They seemed to be turning a corner.

And just as he was thinking that it might be smooth sailing from there on out, the Captain let out an enormous sneeze, which was followed shortly by a loud rumbling.

.

.

.

Later, Qoya said it was probably a coincidence, that there was no way a sneeze could have actually triggered an avalanche.

Tintin disagreed. That sneeze was the single loudest noise he'd ever heard.

Qoya took off for the boulder as fast as she could in her snowshoes. Tintin tried to stumble after her, dragging the llamas, but Qoya jerked his hand from the rope. "Leave them!" she ordered, in a voice that Tintin didn't even think to argue with.

Together, they waded as quickly as they could and crouched behind the boulder, willing the Captain to move faster as he, too, scrambled for shelter.

Qoya seized Tintin's head between her hands as the roaring grew exponentially louder. Her eyes were bigger than any eyes he'd ever seen. "Kick your feet like you're swimming, and use your hands to make an air pocket in front of your face."

His senses alert, his mental acuity sharp as always in an emergency, Tintin nodded. "Kick my feet, make an air pocket."

"Keep kicking, like you're swimming for the surface."

"Got it."

Qoya dropped her hands from Tintin's face and pulled him right up against the boulder. He put his hands on either side of her, cocooning her. "También, si no sabes donde es arriba, escupe."

Tintin answered automatically: "Si no sé - what?"

Then the roaring noise was all around them and it was impossible to hear anything else. The last thing Tintin saw was Qoya's face, realizing in horror that she'd accidentally spoken Spanish. Then, there was just white, ice and snow everywhere, trying to entomb him.


	16. Chapter 16

Tintin was good in a crisis. No, great. He was exactly the person you'd want around, in a crisis. He'd been in enough to know that where most people lost it and panicked, he kept his cool and used his head. That wasn't ego, that was just fact. So the fact that he was on the verge of panic now, well, that could only mean that this particular crisis was the real thing.

It was like being smothered in concrete. Freezing cold concrete. He'd kicked his feet, exactly like Qoya had instructed, and kept his hands moving in front of his face to create an air pocket. Now the snow had settled, and he couldn't move at all, except for his arms, and them just a little, right in front of his face. He punched futilely at the ice above his head, but he couldn't get the right leverage to make a dent.

 _Keep calm_ , he ordered himself. _Think._ Good Lord, was Qoya trapped as well? The Captain? Snowy? Who would rescue them? _Keep calm,_ he ordered himself again. _You'll rescue them._

How could he rescue them if he couldn't rescue himself? Even if he did, by some miracle, break free, how would he ever find them? He suddenly realized he was so disoriented, he didn't even know which way was up, and frozen and immobilized as he was, there was no way to find out.

 _Which way was up…_ his mind suddenly flashed to Qoya's words in Spanish, right before the avalanche had hit. He recalled them now: "Si no sabes donde es arriba, escupe." She'd known this could happen. She'd been telling him: "If you don't know which way is up… escupe." What was escupe? A command of… escuper? Escupir? Tintin didn't know the word.

Again, he hit futiley at the ice above his head. Escupe. There was some sort of fix to this. There was a way to figure out which way was up, but it was unavailable to him, all for the want of a better grasp on Spanish vocabulary.

What could he do? He forced himself calm again. It was one word, it had to be simple enough, and it had to be something he could do with almost no range of motion in his entire body. And something he could do while slowly becoming colder… and colder… and shorter and shorter of breath… and more and more dehydrated… his mouth felt suddenly dry at the thought...

Spit. That was it. That's what Qoya had been trying to tell him. Spitting would tell him what was down and what was up.

He sucked up every last bit of moisture in his mouth and spat.

The spittle fell back, onto his eyes.

Up was… not above his head, but in front of him? Was he lying on his back in the snow?

Tintin drew back his arm as far as it would go, only this time, instead of punching up, above his head, he punched forward, straight ahead of his chest.

The ice cracked and he saw a glimpse of sunlight.

He must be only a few inches under the snow.

He punched again and the ice cracked more; then again, and a small hole appeared. Fresh air rushed in and he breathed deeply.

Then Qoya was above him, screaming his name and pounding at the ice encasing him with something big, powerful. The ice cracked more, and Tintin gained more of a range of motion with his hands; he attacked from below, heedless of the blood and bruises appearing on his knuckles, until the hole was big enough for him to see Qoya, who continued to pound at the ice trapping him, using… what was it? A rock?

How had she escaped the avalanche?

Focus, Tintin told himself.

He continued to punch at the ice from below, while Qoya worked at it from above. She pounded harder and harder, pausing only to say, "hold on Tintin, I'm getting there, just a few more seconds!" He caught small glimpses of her as she worked. Her hair was down. Must have come down in the avalanche.

Focus!

Finally, the ice above him cracked and splintered. Tintin sat up, wiggling his legs free and scrambling out of his icy tomb with a whoop of joy.

"Are you OK?" Qoya cried, tossing aside a large, sharp block of ice. Snowy yipped and bounded into Tintin's face, covering him with kisses.

"I'm OK!" Tintin answered. He snuggled Snowy close. "Good boy, yes, I love you too," he told the little fox terrier, and rubbed his nose against Snowy's, which made Snowy howl with joy.

Tintin looked up at Qoya. Her face looked... different, somehow, as she watched him cuddling Snowy. Her grin shone from her too-big eyes. She's happy, Tintin realized with a start. This must be what Qoya looks like when she's happy.

Beautiful, he realized.

Well, she always looked beautiful to him. He was not too proud to admit that. But, Happy Qoya was… empirically beautiful.

"Are _you_ OK?" Tintin asked. "How are you not buried?"

"You protected me!" God, her eyes.

"I protected you? Successfully?"

"Yes, you took the worst of it. I held onto the boulder and climbed up. Snowy jumped up on my shoulders! One of my legs got buried but we dug it out," Qoya continued. "That is one smart dog. Are you sure you're OK? You didn't break anything, or twist an ankle?"

"No, I kicked my feet like you said, and when I did get covered, it was only a few inches down. I must have got flipped over at some point, because I was lying on my back, but I did what you said - escupe? Means spit, right? And that worked! That's how I knew which direction to aim for, and that's how-"

"That's how I found you!" Qyoa interjected excitedly. Sunlight radiated from her eyes, and she jumped up and down in place, wringing her hands with excitement. Tintin liked Happy Qoya. "You figured it out? Even though I accidentally said it in Spanish?"

"Yes, I figured it out! And then you rescued me!"

Tintin gasped in surprise as Qoya tackled him and sent them rolling in the snow, laughing for joy. He wrapped his arms around her, supporting her head with his hands as they tumbled together. Was this because she liked him? Or was she just treating him how she'd treat a brother?

"I rescued you!" Qoya yelled, coming to rest on his chest. "We beat the avalanche!"

"We survived!" Tintin added, laughing.

"We won!" Qoya screamed.

There was a pause as they both panted. Tintin was lying on his back in the snow, Qoya on his chest. She was wearing the talisman he'd given her. She must have had it tucked into her shirt… but now it was out, dangling from her neck onto Tintin's throat. Their faces were inches apart, her hair in his face as well as hers. He could kiss her now. A celebratory kiss for defeating the avalanche. It wouldn't even have to mean anything.

She was smiling. Her lower lip suddenly became his whole world. He could kiss it. All he had to do was lean forward. She was keeping so still, and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest; she would not be surprised if he kissed her.

He reached up and gently brushed her hair to the side… oh, he wasn't prepared for how it felt. Strong and coarse and thick. He sifted it between his fingers. Qoya held her breath.

Tintin suddenly felt overwhelmed, between her lip and her hair and the talisman and the almost-kiss that was happening. He froze, unsure of what to do.

Then, like a lightning bolt, the same thought struck them both simultaneously. Just as Qoya let out an "Oh, my God!" Tintin screamed "the Captain!"


	17. Chapter 17

_**Hi everyone,**_

 _ **My US readers will know that this week is Thanksgiving. Seeing as one of my main characters here is Indigenous, I thought I'd take this opportunity plug a few resources that dispel the myths around Thanksgiving and advocate for a change in how we approach US history. Do please visit Oyate: "oyate DOT org SLASH index DOT php SLASH resources SLASH 43-resources SLASH thanksgiving" to learn about the facts vs. myths of Thanksgiving, and UAINE: "uaine DOT org" to learn about the movement that meets in Plymouth on Thanksgiving every year for a day of mourning. (Sorry for the weird notations, they automatically delete anything that's formatted as a hyperlink.)**_

 _ **The disclaimer I forget way too often: I don't own Tintin!**_

How had they managed to go from almost kissing one minute to at each other's throats the next? Was this what life with Qoya was always like? If so, he would be well rid of her.

.

.

.

After they'd disinterred the Captain, only to find him frozen stiff, Tintin had gone for the alcohol in his hip-flask and the Captain had downed it in one.

"Tintin! Captain Haddock! The llamas aren't dead, I see them!" Qoya gestured excitedly, but her grin faded as the Captain lumbered towards her.

She hasn't seen him drunk before, Tintin realized.

"Good, fine, I'll fetch them!" the Captain declared as he half-walked, half-crawled in the llamas' general direction.

"No, no, Captain! I'll go!" Tintin tried to intervene, but the Captain paid him no mind. Qoya looked at Tintin quizzically; he avoided meeting her eyes.

"Come here, you raggle-taggle ruminants…" the Captain bellowed, scaring the llamas further away. Qoya grabbed at his arm, but he brushed her off. She stumbled and fell in the deep snow.

Tintin hurried to her. "Are you OK?" he asked, helping her up.

"I'm fine, but I'm not so sure about him…" the Captain was still ambling towards the llamas.

"Yeah… unfortunately, there's nothing we can do."

"Yes there is, let's go stop him." Qoya made to follow the Captain, but Tintin seized her by the arm.

"No, believe me, there's nothing we can do."

"But he's drunk!"

"Have you ever seen a drunk person before?"

Qoya swore in Quechua—why was everything a fight with her?—before replying tersely, "Of course I have. That's why we need to go stop him. Before he hurts himself."

Tintin took a deep breath. "I don't want to fight, Qoya, I'm just telling you, there's nothing to do now but let this run its course."

"You don't want to go after him, fine, but you can't stop me!" She jerked her arm and started to stomp away—until Tintin, moving quickly, blocked her path.

"Qoya..." _why did her name have to be so beautiful?_ "...I can't let you go after him. It would put you in danger."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes had been shining before, but now they radiated anger. "What do you mean, _let me_? And, what, it's OK for him to be in danger, but not me?"

"Yes." Tintin stood his ground.

"And how do you work that out?"

"Because he did this—does this—to himself. The biggest favor we can do him right now is make sure that if someone does get hurt, it's him and only him."

Qoya shook herself out of his grip. "Your friend is in danger. How can you do nothing? ¿Qué tipo de amigo eres?"

The wheels in Tintin's head turned. _Qué tipo de amigo…_.

Oh.

He knew what she'd said.

It felt like he'd swallowed a stone. His face changed, hardened, and he saw—no, felt—Qoya register it.

He turned away from her, then, unable to stop himself, wheeled back around, fists clenched. "You don't even know him. I—I have dealt with this for years. Years. So I know that, in a few hours, if it's only him who's hurt, we'll all be thanking our lucky stars." His breath caught. "We've been shipwrecked. Stranded in the desert. I didn't leave him, all those times he put my life in danger—time and again. You think you can fix him? Go ahead and try. But thank me now, because I'll be the one mopping up afterwards." His voice shook, and he turned around so she wouldn't see the tears welling in his eyes.

He started to walk away, following the Captain at a distance, then turned back around, forcing his voice steady. "You know, I researched this. Most people do what you do—try to intervene. Then _they_ get hurt, and the drunk person feels guilty. So they drink more. Rinse and repeat. Over and over again. And before too long, the friend is out the door. For good. You ask him, in an hour or so, he'll say exactly the same." He paused to catch his breath. Qoya's face was completely unreadable.

Tintin pointed to his chest. "I'm the one who stuck around. That's what kind of friend I am."

Qoya said nothing as he walked away. How had they managed to go from almost kissing one minute to at each other's throats the next? Was this what life with Qoya was always like? If so, he would be well rid of her. This journey couldn't end soon enough.

 _ **Sorry for jerking you around so much! I promise it's going somewhere...**_


	18. Chapter 18

Captain Haddock's ranting scared the llamas off, but they recovered some of their supplies and re-packed their knapsacks.

They were forced to ditch the tents, as they were too heavy to carry. The Captain, sober by then, seemed to expect at least a jibe from Qoya as the decision was made; then, he looked at both their faces, and knew something had happened. He stayed silent.

They trudged forward, out of the snow, towards a jungle.

The day dragged on.

That night, there was an incident with Captain Haddock and a bear that Tintin didn't enjoy nearly as much as he should have.

Later, there was also an incident with some monkeys, and then an incident with a tapir. Tintin could take no joy in either, and Qoya didn't crack a smile; she barely seemed to notice.

The days dragged on.

He kept bumping into trees. He'd always been prone to clumsiness when lost in his thoughts; once, according to the Captain, he'd apologized to a rubbish bin after colliding with it. After a few days in the jungle, he lost track of how many times his face connected with bark.

The days dragged on.

An enormous anaconda—as long and heavy as all three of them put together—startled them as they were making camp one night. Tintin instinctively reached for his gun before he remembered. He started towards Qoya, intending to put himself in between her and the snake, but before he could get there, she raised a long, thin wooden tube to her lips.

For some reason, Tintin's mind flashed to the moment he'd first seen Qoya, when she'd shaken a pebble out of her shoe without ever losing balance of her tray of oranges.

With the same matter-of-fact demeanor, Qoya blew a dart into the giant boa constrictor. She watched dispassionately as the creature writhed, then fell dead before them.

Then, without a word, she set up her bedroll.

"I thought serpents were sacred to Quechua people," Tintin couldn't help muttering.

"They are. I'm not religious. You're welcome."

Tintin said nothing.

Captain Haddock took the first watch, and woke Tintin in the early hours of morning. It was pitch-black, a cloudy, muggy night.

Tintin poked at the fire, thinking again of Qoya's expression as she'd killed the snake. What didn't he know about this girl? What had happened to her, that she could face an anaconda unflinchingly, but went to pieces over a few hunting rifles?

As if on cue, Qoya mumbled something in her sleep and turned over.

Tintin thought again of their first meeting, when he'd picked a fight with two other men over her. When he'd called her "hija". With a stab of guilt, he also remembered how he'd blamed her for her own kidnapping.

If he'd known of the roller coaster that would follow, would he still have pushed the man who'd assaulted her? He could have been spared all this, had he just looked the other way.

Qoya gave a sharp kick, and Tintin looked at her. She was talking in her sleep now, her words indecipherable, but he could tell from her tone that she was having a nightmare.

He walked to her. With no moon or stars, her face was illuminated only by the flickering fire. Her eyes were screwed up tight, her words flowing a mile a minute, mostly in Spanish. He caught "baja" and "pistola" and "por favor," but nothing else.

Then her whole body contorted. Her back arched, her arms flew up, and she screamed out loud.

Tintin dropped to his knees, shocked out of his apathy. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, saying her name.

Qoya didn't respond. She just writhed more, her face in anguish, and screamed "No!" Her neck arched and her head snapped back, hitting the ground hard.

"Qoya! Wake up!" Tintin shook her harder, and with one last scream, Qoya opened her eyes. She immediately slapped his hands from her shoulders and scrambled away from him, doing a strange crab-walk out of her bedroll. Tintin followed her, careful to keep a few feet away.

Qoya kept moving until the back of her head hit a fallen log. She turned, swiping at it with her forearm, as if it was trying to attack her. "Qoya, stop! It's OK!" Tintin said. He crawled towards her; her eyes were wide and crazed, darting from him to the fire to the darkness, as if she were sure something would jump out and attack at any minute.

Tintin crawled still closer, holding his hands up in front of him as he came to sit right next to her. "Breathe, Qoya, please," he said gently. "It was a nightmare."

She was gulping for air and also, he could tell, using every ounce of energy she possessed to stop herself from crying. "A nightmare?" she asked, her voice high and tight. Tintin nodded. He swore he could hear her heart pounding.

"What—what did I say?" she asked, her eyes still darting all around them. Tintin wasn't sure how to answer.

"I couldn't really tell," he said. "You weren't speaking English." Qoya squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths.

Without planning it, and almost against his will, Tintin kept going, telling the truth. "But," he continued, "I could tell one thing. You were saying, 'Please put down the gun.'"

Qoya's head snapped up and her eyes met his.

They stayed like that for what felt like a week. Qoya's eyes were angry and guarded, Tintin's anxious and hesitant. He knew that her nightmare had been about her past, that people she loved, probably her family, had been killed with a gun, and that she'd witnessed it and survived. And she knew that he knew, and as they looked at each other, it became clear that something had to give.

So Tintin decided to get up, turn around, go back to his watch by the fire, and in the morning, pretend that none of this had happened.

It was the best thing, the _only_ thing he could do under these circumstances. Qoya needed to be rid of him, and he of her, as quickly as possible. They'd finish the journey in silence, then he'd give her a nice generous payoff. She'd be on her way, and he on his, with Professor Calculus safely recaptured. In a few weeks, they'd be back at Marlinspike Hall and it would be as if he and Qoya had never met.

The plan was a comforting one, and he made up his mind to follow it even as he and Qoya continued their staring contest.

He rocked back on his heels, a second away from returning to his watch by the fire as if nothing had happened.

For just one more second—for no reason, really—he stayed still and looked into Qoya's eyes. Just for one more second, before he forgot that tonight ever happened. Just one more second.

Just one more.

Then, tears spilled from Qoya's eyes. She screwed up her face. Her body curled downward and forward, towards Tintin's chest, and she let out a quiet sob. Her fists clenched as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back her tears.

 _What is wrong with me?_ Tintin thought as he awkwardly patted her on the back. She sniffled and pulled back, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She looked up at him, her face one big question.

Without planning it, and almost against his will, Tintin said, "Your nightmare, it was about the day your family died, the day you became an orphan, right? Just like my nightmare?"

Qoya's face crumpled and she nodded. Tintin reached for her, tears spilling from his own eyes, and she crawled to his arms. He lifted her into his lap, leaned back against the fallen log, and held her tight as she clung to him and cried.

 _ **Things are coming to a head…!**_


	19. Chapter 19

Tintin cradled Qoya close as she continued to cry. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his throat, great heaving sobs that wracked her whole body. "I know, I know," he whispered in her ear, and gently rocked her.

Violent tremors coursed through her body, and Tintin held her tighter. "It's OK," he whispered; and when she tried to say something, and couldn't catch her breath to form the words, he whispered "I know, I know" again and tucked her head back under his chin. "Just keep crying, as long as it takes" he whispered, and felt her tremors lesson, although her sobs continued.

Eventually, as he was tracing circles on her back, she caught her breath and stopped crying long enough to look up. Tintin used the corner of his sleeve to wipe the tears from her face. Qoya caught his hand in hers, and without breaking eye contact, told him her story.

Her white, American mother–a Yale professor working towards a PhD in Latin American history–had come to Peru twenty years ago on a do-gooding mission to work for Indigenous rights. In a town named Qoya ("Queen" in Quechua), she'd met a man who taught her some hard lessons about white Americans with savior complexes… before they'd fallen in love, married, and had two children: Qoya and her younger brother Quri.

With one parent light-skinned and one dark-skinned, by the luck of the draw, Qoya had turned out as dark as her father–as dark as any Quechua-speaking Peruvian–while Quri was light enough to pass for white. The family was unusual, bouncing back and forth between the United States and Peru several times a year as their parents worked in the labor movement in both nations. The kids were homeschooled.

In the USA, the strange looks never ceased for Qoya and her dad, even when Qoya spoke in perfect American-accented English; in Peru, on the other hand, Qoya fit in perfectly, while her mother and brother were, would always be, foreigners, despite the fact that Quri was born in Peru and also spoke perfect Spanish and Quechua.

She paused here, and Tintin handed her his canteen. She drank it down, then continued with her story.

They'd been walking home from a baseball game in New York City (her mother's hometown) when they'd been stopped by two police officers, who aggressively questioned why a white woman was out so late at night with a dark-skinned man.

"I honestly don't remember much," Qoya said. "She said "uhhh, because he's my husband" like the cop was stupid, and he didn't like that. Said it was attitude and she better shut her mouth. And he kinda patted his gun in his holster as he said it. Well, she and dad didn't that one bit. And dad was carrying a gun in his back pocket. I saw him reach for it, and then Quri jumped on top of me, and the rest is a blur. Lots of screaming. Lots of blood, and I couldn't tell if it was mine, or Quri's, or someone else's."

Qoya paused again. Tintin pulled her close for a hug as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his neck for a long minute. He stroked her arms and her back until she gently let go, resuming her position cradled in his lap, her head on his shoulder. His fingers lightly traced lines down her bare arms–she shivered when he touched her wrists, and entwined her hands with his.

"What happened next?" Tintin whispered into her hair.

Qoya played with his thumb as she answered. "I heard a lot of noises, horrible noises, screams and swearing and–gunshots." She looked up at Tintin, as if wondering what his reaction would be; he just brushed a tear from her cheek. "Someone kicked Quri off of me. I looked around and saw that everyone was–was dead. Then, this policeman was pointing a gun in my face, and he said–" she paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath– "he said, 'you little pickaninny bitch, if you know what's good for you, you'll get out of here now and never come back.'"

Tintin gasped in pain and hugged her tight again. Qoya's sobs started back up. "And I did. I was so scared I ran as hard and as far as I could. I didn't come back until a few days later, and by that time there was no sign that anything had happened. When I checked the local precinct, they told me the only fatalities in the past week had been drug-related, situations where the dealer was armed and trying to shoot, and the cop had no choice but to shoot back. And I had no proof, and I was a dark-skinned girl."

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"Oh, God…" Tintin was crying in earnest now. "What did you do?"

"I couldn't think of anything to do. So I hopped on the next boat to Peru, where at least I don't stand out so much… I really couldn't deal with people staring at me, especially right after… what happened. And… well, some more bad stuff happened here in Peru. But eventually, all these years later, I sorted myself out enough to sell oranges, and I did some other odd jobs, and I started saving money to go back to New York. Then I heard about these two gueros wandering through town, questioning everyone cluelessly, wanting an escort to Qoricancha. I figured, you're white, you'll pay me well; I'll be back in New York in no time. No fuss, no muss, like my mom used to say." She barked a laugh. "The best laid plans… That kidnapper, the one who woke me up, you remember him?"

Tintin nodded.

"He shook me to wake me up, then pointed one of the rifles at my face. Then he said, in Quechua, 'you little traitor bitch, if you know what's good for you you'll stay silent and come with us.'"

Tintin's head jerked back and he took Qoya's face in both of his hands. She was crying again. "That's why I threw the guns away like that. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I should have talked to you, told you why, but–"

"Oh, Qoya!"

"–but I just couldn't. I couldn't tell you how every time I looked at them, I remembered the policeman, and what they both called me, and I remembered seeing my family except they weren't my family, they were empty bodies, and I remembered the blood, and, oh, I just had to throw them away. I'm so sorry, Tintin!"

"Qoya! My God!" Tintin held her as tight as he could. She was back to sobbing, and she cried unabashedly into his chest as his hands caressed her shoulders and back.

Before long she drew back once more, and between sobs, choked out, "I'm also really, really sorry for what I said when Captain Haddock got drunk. You were absolutely right. And I think you're a wonderful friend." She sank a little further into Tintin's arms, and hugged him, resting her head on his chest.

Taken off guard (Captain Haddock was the last thing on his mind) but appreciative, Tintin hugged her back. "It's OK," he murmured.

"Thank you," she whispered. She wiped her eyes on his sweater and looked up at him. "So," she said softly, "what's your story?"

"My story?"

"You listened to mine. I want to hear yours."

Tintin felt his eyes dart away from hers involuntarily. She took his hand and started playing with his fingers again, gently brushing her thumb over his knuckles, careful of the slight scabs that remained from when he'd busted out of the ice. He took a breath.

"My story isn't… as interesting as yours." He looked down at Qoya, who said nothing. "I had a pretty, um, normal, uneventful childhood. I was close to my parents. Especially my mum."

He swallowed. He wasn't practiced at saying these words, and they felt strange in his mouth. Qoya rubbed her cheek against his chest; it felt good.

"It's not much of a story. We all got a really horrible scarlet fever one summer. My dad got it first; he went to bed early one day, trying to hide how sick he was. The next day, my throat started to hurt, so much that I left a friend's house early. Mum got scared and called a doctor. Then, I don't remember much. It was dark, I was aching, and coughing so much, and I had a lot of scary dreams. Then I woke up, and they were both dead and the church ladies were packing up my clothes to send me to the orphanage."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

Qoya sighed. "What did you do?"

"I never went to the orphanage. I waited until I had a minute alone, and then I packed a suitcase with one extra set of clothes, paper and pens, a toothbrush, and all of my mum's jewelry–I knew where she had hidden the valuable stuff. I grabbed Snowy, who was brand new, just a puppy, at that point, and then I went to Brussels, to a newspaper called Le Vingtième, told them I was 16, and asked if they would send me on an investigative trip to the Soviet Union."

"Dios mio. Why there?"

"Nobody was willing to go there, but the world was desperate for stories from within. I needed to make them an offer that they couldn't refuse… an offer that would get me a press badge with no questions asked."

"Did it work?"

"Well… yes. In the sense that I went there, survived, and got the story. And after that, a bunch of other places… a lot of other stories… I spent some time in the Congo, and then the US, then China. I was, it sounds like, a lot like your mum when she first came to Peru… meaning I had some real issues with the white savior complex thing." Qoya smiled. "Actually, probably significantly worse than your mum. A friend in China helped me with that. He was such a good friend, Chang. Really woke me up on some things. You're doing your part, too."

"Which I can tell you appreciate." She smirked, her eyes playful even as her hands gently worked to unfurl his thumb.

"You can, eh?" Tintin looked down at her and smiled.

She smiled back, then briefly pressed her lips to the pad of his thumb. Tintin's heart vaulted into his throat.

"When did you meet the Captain?"

He had to swallow, and his voice still came out tight and funny at first. "About a year ago. He's the first person I've really latched onto, since my parents died. I would have loved to stay with Chang, but he got adopted and I couldn't ask him to leave a life with a real family. But other than him, before I met the Captain, it was a good five-year stretch of just me and Snowy."

"Why do you think you've stayed with him?" God, if she kept playing with his thumb much longer...

"I don't really know… maybe because he never asks me about the past. He knows what happened, but he doesn't make me talk about it, and he doesn't ever pressure me to go back and see my parent's graves, or see the house I grew up in."

"Do you think you might want to?" Qoya asked the question so straightforwardly, in such an unloaded way, that Tintin didn't feel she was pressuring him at all; just seeking information.

"I don't know. Maybe. Sometimes I feel like I should, but then I think I'd just find…"

"Pain?"

"Exactly." Tintin brushed a strand of hair from Qoya's face. "I ran away from that house, and never went back."

"I wonder that about New York, too," Qoya said. "The truth is, I could have gone back there a long time ago, if I'd made up my mind to do it. But… what if there's nothing there but…"

"...pain."

Neither said anything for a long moment. They didn't need to.

Qoya's breathing was lengthening again, and her eyes were closed. Warm in the cocoon of Tintin's arms, she seemed to be on the verge of drifting off.

"Hey, Qoya?" Tintin said, before she fell completely asleep.

"Mmmm?"

"I'm so sorry that I blamed you for being kidnapped. That was sexist, brutish, and just plain stupid of me. It was not OK."

Qoya looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Yes, it was all those things, but now it's OK." She smiled, and–great snakes, again!–his gaze was drawn to her lower lip. As if it were a magnet designed specifically for his eyes.

Without planning it, and almost against his will, Tintin leaned forward and kissed her forehead, right below her hairline. Then he whispered , "Go to sleep now. If that nightmare comes back, I'll be right here and we'll fight it off together."

Qoya leaned against his chest and fell asleep almost immediately.

First, though, her hand came up and, with slightly trembling fingers, she touched her forehead where Tintin had pressed his lips to her skin.

She smiled.

Then, she drifted off.


	20. Chapter 20

_**This chapter is dedicated to Pink-Pencil-Girl303, for her incredibly supportive and generous reviews. When I started this fic, I wasn't sure whether anyone else in the world would be interested in claiming Tintin for social justice purposes, and talking about power and oppression in Hergé's world. Boy howdy, there's a lot to talk about. I am so grateful to know that I'm not the only one who thinks about these things; this is why I love fanfiction.**_

 _ **Incidentally, I also am not happy with my action writing in Chapter 8, I think it's way confusing!**_

 _ **Tintastic01, I see you, too :-) Thank you so much for the lovely review; I am really glad you're enjoying this story.**_

Dawn was barely breaking when Tintin nudged Qoya. When she didn't stir, he nudged her again. Nothing.

He considered letting her sleep, but decided against it.

He shifted her slightly, freeing one of his hands. "Qoya," he whispered, and very gently shook her shoulder. Her breathing changed, and she turned in his arms. "Qoya," he murmured again, and lightly tickled her wrist.

Groggily, she opened her eyes. "Whassit–what–" she looked around wearily; then, as memories of the previous night flooded back to her, and she realized that her body was still entwined with Tintin's, she stiffened.

Tintin understood, but there wasn't time to talk about it. "Qoya," he whispered. "Look at the Captain." He pointed with his chin, and Qoya followed his gaze to where the Captain slept. A colony of ants paraded on and around his head.

"Now look left, at the tree line." An anteater stood, fixated on the Captain. Then, slowly, it ambled towards him.

Qoya gasped with pleasure. She turned her face to look at Tintin, eyes shining. He nodded, feeling his grin widening, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he whispered, "I couldn't let you risk missing this."

"You did the right thing!" Qoya hissed back.

Together they watched, tense with excitement, as the anteater reached the Captain and started its feast. "My kingdom for a camera…" Tintin moaned.

Qoya sighed happily and relaxed back against Tintin. The Captain murmured "Snowy, go away…."

Tintin felt Qoya's body tremble with laughter, then she looked up at him and said, "This is joy in its purest form."

He laughed and tightened his grip on her, a warm anticipation brewing in his chest.

A slight breeze caught Qoya's hair; he tucked it behind her ear, then paused his hand at her neck, running his thumb over her earlobe.

Qoya turned her face towards him.

He let his fingertips slide down, tracing the contours of her jawline, pausing with his fingers just under her chin.

They were inches apart. Tintin's eyes were drawn magnetically to Qoya's mouth. She was holding her breath.

Then, she nervously bit down on her bottom lip, and Tintin couldn't take it any longer. He would kiss her, or actually, literally, go crazy. He leaned in, and their lips met for a split second.

Just then, Captain Haddock jumped up, screaming "Hop it, you four-legged Cyrano!" at the anteater, and Tintin and Qoya burst apart, as if a grenade had gone off between them.


	21. Chapter 21

_**I always forget: I don't own Tintin!**_

"Calm down, Captain; it's only a poor old anteater who wanted to say good morning!" Tintin laughed. The Captain looked at him, and Tintin could tell that despite his rude awakening, he knew something was up. Tintin tried to force the small, secret smile from his face, but it didn't work.

Qoya was casually–a bit too casually–re-packing her knapsack. "You were covered with ants. He was looking for breakfast!" She giggled and bit her lip. Tintin looked away, feeling positively lightheaded, and got busy packing his own knapsack. The Captain looked back and forth between them, then shook his head. "I'm going to wash up," he said.

After a good ten seconds, Tintin dared to look up. Qoya was now unpacking her entire knapsack. "Why're you doing that?"

"I accidentally packed my scarf." She giggled again. He loved her laugh. "You know. Because I only wear it every single day of my life. So of course, just now I–" she produced it from the sack– "neatly folded it and packed it away." She laughed again. "I've never folded this thing before. My hands, they just decided to, without consulting me!"

"How dare they?"

Qoya looked over her shoulder. "How long do you think he'll be gone?"

"Not long enough," Tintin said, and started towards her.

"Wait!" she cried, laughing again. "I have to pee, and I have to brush my teeth."

"There's no time!"

"Sorry," she said, shrugging. She tossed him her scarf. "You can hold this until I get back." Tintin caught the scarf and, scowling and laughing at the same time, watched her leave.

The Captain came back a few minutes later, whistling and stomping loudly through the brush as if to warn them he was coming. He seemed surprised to find Tintin alone, but said nothing out of the ordinary as they packed up camp and readied themselves for the day.

Qoya came back a few minutes later, pouting at Tintin behind the Captain's back when she saw that their opportunity to be alone had passed. Tintin pulled a face at her, then chucked the scarf back to her. She secured it around her neck, pulled on her backpack, rubbed her hands together, and said "let's go!"

.

.

.

Over the next few days, try as they might, Tintin and Qoya could not succeed in getting more than a few minutes alone together. Pesky mosquitoes, sleeping alligators, laughing monkeys–something was always there to ruin the moment before it could happen. Captain Haddock did his best to help, and even Snowy seemed to be trying to give them space. One night, the Captain outright declared, "I think I'll just… take Snowy for a walk. For a half hour, at least..." as they made camp, but he'd been gone for about thirty seconds before he gave a howl of pain; he'd walked right into a beehive.

The next day, Qoya and Tintin slowed down and drifted back as they hiked, allowing more and more space between themselves and the Captain; but, just as Tintin was reaching for Qoya's hand, she stepped in a small hole and went down.

"You better go get the Captain," she said, wincing, as Tintin removed her shoe and sock.

"Do I have to?" he whined, only half-joking. Qoya smiled, but said yes, he had to, otherwise they might get separated. Plus, the Captain had the First Aid kit. "Fine," he moped, then jogged until the Captain was within earshot and called him back.

He returned to Qoya and lifted her foot into his lap, tracing his fingers over her ankle. She gave a shiver that he didn't think had anything to do with pain, and he shot her a knowing look.

"Stop it," she barked. "This is serious. We might have to amputate."

"Oh, that's OK. Can we have some quality alone time afterwards, though?"

"This isn't quality enough for you? It's not like I can go anywhere."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours."

"What?!" Tintin gasped in mock outrage. "How do you figure?"

"Give me a minute, I'll let you know." Qoya tapped her chin pensively.

Tintin laughed. "It was your fault. You need to look where you're going."

"It was your fault. Before I met you, I never had a reason not to."

There was a silence. Qoya smirked and looked sidelong at Tintin, through her eyelashes.

He groaned and reached for her, then pulled back with a pained expression as the Captain and Snowy, predictably, barrelled onto the scene.

"For once it wasn't me," the Captain said as he rooted around in his knapsack for the first aid kit. "In fact, I haven't had a clumsy moment all day!"

"The night is young," said Tintin. "Don't sneeze or anything, you'll awaken a mudslide." The captain shot him a dirty look, but a smile was hidden beneath his beard.

"That was a coincidence," said Qoya. "There's no way he caused the avalanche. The noise has to be about a billion–what is the word, dec-decibels?"–Tintin gave her a small nod–"about a billion decibels to cause an avalanche."

"There, you see?" said Captain Haddock. "It was a coincidence."

"I'm not convinced," said Tintin. "That sneeze was the single loudest sound I have heard, ever." The Captain guffawed, and Qoya chuckled.

They splinted and wrapped her ankle, after which Qoya reported that she could walk on it just fine.

Then they carried on, out of the rainforest to the base of a mountain. "Up there," Qoya pointed. "In the mountains. That's where Qorikancha is."


	22. Chapter 22

_**Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! Here's your present, a double update :-) I don't own any of this!**_

A torrential river, cutting a jagged path around the base of the mountain, prevented them from making any progress for two full days. By the middle of the third, Tintin had had enough.

"There's nothing for it," he said as they stood at the midway point of a waterfall. "Qorikancha certainly has strong defenses. We should have crossed the first day, when the fall was shorter. We're wasting too much time scrambling up these rocks."

The Captain suggested backtracking, but Qoya disagreed. "We'll just waste more time."

"You see that spike of rock over there?" Tintin pointed. "Can you lasso it?

Qoya handed the Captain the rope, and he succeeded on the first try. Then, he fastened the other end to a tree, showing Qoya the knot as he tied it.

"A bowline?" she asked.

"Yup. It catches itself, if you pull on the other end. Now, who's first?"

Qoya tugged on the rope to test it. Tintin barely had time to register the sinking feeling in his stomach before she said, brightly, "I'll go."

He instinctively started forward, intending to stop her; then, he caught her eye and swallowed hard. They would all have to cross, one way or another. Going first was probably the safest option, as the rope would be at its strongest on the first pass. He gave a short nod.

"Look at that," the Captain muttered to himself. "They've got their own secret language now." Tintin would have laughed, if he'd been less anxious.

Qoya tugged on the rope again, looking at the knot at the base of the tree. "This won't come undone, but it might break," she said. "If it does, it'll probably be right here, where the knot is. Make sure you check it before you cross. Cut it and redo the knot it if it's starting to fray." Tintin nodded.

Qoya tightened her knapsack, gripped the rope firmly, and pulled herself up onto it. It held strong. Tintin forced himself to breathe as she methodically inched her way farther out, across the river.

"She's got guts, that girl!" the Captain said.

When her foot connected with solid rock on the far side, Tintin let his breath go. He looked down and realized he'd been clenching his fists so hard his knuckles were white.

"All good!" Qoya hollered.

The Captain went next, and halfway across, lost his hat. Tintin and Qoya both screamed as, rather than let it go, he grabbed for it.

"For heaven's sake, Captain! You'll fall!" Tintin yelled.

"Leave it!" Qoya ordered loudly, as the Captain dangled by one hand.

"And buy another at the local hatter's, I suppose?" Captain Haddock shouted back, firmly jamming the cap onto his head before he resumed his journey and, finally, safely touched down on the other side.

His nerves heightened, Tintin secured his rucksack, tucked Snowy into a poncho, and tied the poncho around his neck.

He had a feeling there was something he'd forgotten, but that was impossible. Everything they had brought was in their packs. Still, the thought that he was missing something nagged at him.

He looked to the other side, where the Captain and Qoya waited for him. Qoya's braid had apparently become disheveled while crossing; she was undoing it now, running her fingers through her wind- and water-swept hair.

All nagging thoughts vanished from Tintin's mind, and, seized with unexpected confidence and a sense of urgency, he gripped the rope firmly and started across.

Snowy whimpered, but Tintin wasn't afraid. "Don't be silly, Snowy… We'll be alright…" he soothed. He tipped his head back; an upside-down Qoya and Captain Haddock waited for him. Qoya was smiling.

Then, four things happened in rapid succession.

First, Qoya's happy expression transformed into one of abject terror. She screamed and pointed.

Second, Tintin felt, then heard, the rope snap.

Third, he was upside down and very wet.

Fourth, he thought to himself: "oh, _that's_ what I forgot."


	23. Chapter 23

_**I still don't own Tintin.**_

Tintin instinctively grabbed for Snowy as the water closed in around him. Together, they plummeted into the icy, but thankfully deep, river. Tintin went limp, fighting the instinct to struggle and gasp before he had to. He let the water buffet him.

He hit the bottom, not hard, and felt for an upstream, a current that would carry him away from the pounding waterfall and to the surface. It found him before he had time to panic, and a few seconds later he popped up.

He and Snowy gasped for air and fought their way to dry land. Tintin scrambled out, dragging his rucksack and slipping on the smooth rocks, and pulled Snowy close to him. They both lay panting for several minutes.

Gradually, as Tintin's head cleared, he noticed that his surroundings were… odd. It was dark, for one thing, but as far as he knew, it was still daytime. Slowly he sat up and looked around.

He was in a cave of some sort. An enormous cavern. But–not a natural cave. The walls were smooth, constructed. How deep was it? He couldn't see an end.

"Come on, boy!" Tintin called to Snowy. He'd expected darkness, but the rocks were covered in–what was it?–phosphorescence. His eyes adjusted, and as he progressed about a hundred feet in, he saw a staircase. Most definitely made by people.

His head spun and arrived at the only possible conclusion.

He wheeled about and hurried back to the waterfall. Qoya and the Captain were sure to have climbed down to the river by now. "Cooee!" he called. "Captain! Qoya!"

"Tintin! Tintin!" The Captain yelled back, a definite note of relief in his voice. "Is it really you? Where are you?"

"Here, behind the waterfall." Snowy added a bark.

"Behind the waterfall? How can you be behind the waterfall?"

"Come here, you'll see!"

"What?"

Tintin picked up a rock. "Watch the foot of the waterfall," he instructed. "I'm going to throw a stone to show where I am." He threw the rock, and heard both the Captain and Qoya gasp. "You saw it? Good! Go get the rope. Tie one end to a rock and throw it to me… I think I've made a very interesting discovery!"

"Right!" the Captain's reply came, and Tintin wondered why he was doing all the talking. Was Qoya OK?

A few minutes later, the Captain's voice came again: "That's tight enough. I'll sling it to you." Tintin stepped out of the way, and a few seconds later, the rock and rope crashed through.

Tintin bent to retrieve it, then continued with his instructions: "Tie your end of the rope to a boulder. I'll do the same at this end." He went to work.

A minute later: "All fast here!" from the Captain.

Tintin finished his own final knot. "Fine! Now, come on and join me here."

There was a short silence.

Then, the Captain's voice: "W-w-what?... We join you?... Don't you mean the other way round?"

Of course, Tintin reasoned; they thought this was about giving Tintin a route back to them. "No, no!" he answered. "Hang on tight to the rope and plunge through the waterfall… You'll see, it's only a thin curtain of water."

The Captain's voice was closer now. "But… but… you're quite sure…"

"Yes, yes! Come on!" Tintin almost laughed, but he was starting to genuinely worry about Qoya. Why was she being so silent?

"Davy Jones, here I come!" A few seconds later, the Captain appeared, dripping.

"You see?"

"Blistering barnacles! Where are we?"

"Wait, I'll explain to you both, but Captain–where's Qoya? Is she OK?"

The Captain was still looking all around in wonder, but he paused to look at Tintin. His face was uncharacteristically serious. "You really scared her."

"What?"

"She thought you'd died–drowned, or broke your neck or something. It took everything I had to keep her from jumping in the river after you."

Of course. With her history, she would immediately fear the worst. How could he have waited so long to call to them? Why was he such an idiot?

The Captain took his arm and gestured to the rope. "I think you should go help her."

Tintin looked towards the waterfall, then back at the Captain. What did he mean? He couldn't see how he could help, it wasn't exactly a two-person job… "What? How?"

The Captain groaned, then took Tintin by the shoulders and actually shook him. "Come _on_. I'll stay HERE–" he waved his arms around, indicating the cave– "on THIS SIDE of the fall. I'll keep SNOWY with ME. HERE." He took Tintin's shoulders and pointed him towards the waterfall. "YOU–" he gave him a slight push– "GO. HELP. QOYA."

God, why was he such an idiot?

He turned back and smiled his thanks to the Captain, who pushed him again.

Tintin grabbed the rope and, moving quickly, hauled himself back into sunlight.

Back to Qoya.

She was crouched by the other end of the rope, her head in her hands. Her hair–wet–was everywhere.

Tintin said her name. She looked up. Her entire face was tear-streaked, her eyes puffy and red.

Why was time slowing down? There was a humming in his ears.

Tintin stepped–or possibly floated–towards her, until he stood on the same boulder, right in front of her. She hastily stood, trying in vain to wipe her face dry with her sleeve as the tears continued to fall.

Finally, she spoke. "You're alive!" she said, weeping and smiling at the same time.

"Oh, is that why you're crying?" Tintin said.

Qoya shot him an angry look even as she laughed. Tintin closed the last foot of space between them, reaching for her arm with one hand. With his other, he gently stroked her face, blotting away her tears, until she caught his hand and held it against her cheek.

"I'm serious," she breathed. "I thought you died."

Tintin pulled back a fraction, just far enough to look her in the eye. "I'm not sure I didn't," he whispered. Then, he kissed her.

 _ **xoxo**_


	24. Chapter 24

" _ **Tinya"–term coined by Pink-Pencil-Girl303 lol–I love it. Here you go, more Tinya, you've waited long enough.**_

Oh, wow.

Qoya's mouth trembled against Tintin's, and he drew back. "You OK?" he asked, his voice husky.

She nodded and pulled his head down again. Her lips moved against his, and gradually, her body relaxed. Tintin put his arms around her, cradling her head in one hand.

They paused to breathe, and when Qoya's knees shook, Tintin lifted her to perch on a nearby boulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, parting her mouth insistently even as Tintin hesitated.

A few minutes later, as they panted for breath again, Qoya leaned her forehead against his and brought his hands up to her hair, guiding his fingers through the long, wet strands.

"Go on," she whispered, and kissed him. "I know you've wanted to."

Tintin combed his fingers through her hair. "So you noticed," he muttered.

She laughed. "You weren't exactly subtle. It was driving you crazy."

Tintin pulled his head back and said, "No it wasn't, not really."

Qoya looked up at him. "Don't lie."

"I'm not. I mean, yes, I…" he trailed off and once more ran his fingers, then his lips, through her hair. "I have a thing for your hair, but that's not what was driving me crazy."

"Oh?"

"Honest." Tintin put his fingers on her jaw. "That would be your lip."

"My lips?"

"Lip. Just the bottom one." He lightly tapped it with his thumb.

Qoya pulled her head back. "Are you serious?"

Tintin laughed, too happy to feel embarrassed. "Yes." He touched his thumb to her lip again, this time letting it linger. Qoya's mouth opened slightly, and Tintin clenched his fist and moaned.

"Woah…" Qoya said, smiling. "This… this is power." They both laughed.

Then, Tintin took her lip into his mouth. Qoya's back arched, and she leaned in.

Tintin gently pulled away, then leaned back in and pressed light kisses to her lower lip, moving from left to right, not missing a millimeter. Qoya clung to him. Gently, he bent her body backwards, trailing kisses down her neck. His lips met a thin chain around her throat.

"You're still wearing the talisman," he whispered. She pulled it out from under her shirt, let it dangle against her chest. He kissed it, kissed her fingers, kissed the hollow in her collarbone just above where it rested.

"It _is_ very pretty," Qoya whispered.

"No argument there."

"I'm just saying… it's not that _you_ gave it it to me. That's not the reason I've been wearing it." Tintin pulled back and looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "OK, not the _only_ reason." She paused, then added, "You did say it might protect me if I wear it." They both laughed. "Protect me from what, you did not specify."

Tintin kissed the corner of her mouth. "Do you need protecting?"

Qoya wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled his head down so that her lips touched his earlobe. "I don't even _want_ protecting," she whispered, and Tintin hoisted her up into his arms as she pressed her mouth to his. His heart–which was already going ten times its usual rhythm–started to pound in his ears as he felt her legs tighten around his body, felt her mouth moving against his, felt her pushing her lower lip into his mouth again. He thought he could feel her heart pounding, too, and he couldn't tell where her heartbeat ended and his began.

Her hands came up and twined in his hair. "You didn't even notice," she whispered.

"What was that?" Tintin said, his lips moving against hers.

Qoya hitched herself a little higher in his arms. "I did a better job hiding it than you did," she said, "but your hair makes me crazy." She ran her fingers through his coif.

Tintin chuckled into her shoulder, then laughed out loud. He set her back down on the boulder. "Do you know how many times I've tried to tame that thing?"

"Don't talk like that. It's wonderful." Qoya sat up straight, pulled his head down, and pressed her lips to his hairline. Tintin's eyes closed, and he pulled her mouth to his and kissed her, a choking sensation in his throat.

It was time to slow down, and they both knew it. Tintin moved his fingers, then his lips, down Qoya's arms, until they were no longer wrapped around each other, but merely holding hands.

He didn't want to say it, but he had to. He kissed her hand one last time. "You ready?"

Qoya took several deep breaths, eyes closed, then slid down, off the boulder. "I'm ready."

Tintin went first, plunging back through the waterfall, steadfastly avoiding Captain Haddock's gaze as he re-entered the dank cave. Qoya came soon after, gamely drenching herself and greeting the Captain warmly.

"Look at this place!" she enthused. "What in the world…"

"I know, it's incredible..." Tintin said, "...but I think we've stumbled on an entrance to Qorikancha… so ancient that even the Incas themselves have probably forgotten all about it." He took Qoya's hand and led her into the darkness. "Anyway, we'll soon see."

"Blistering barnacles!" the Captain grumbled. "It'll be as dark as the belly of a whale in there!"

Qoya dropped Tintin's hand to chase after Snowy as Tintin explained to the Captain about the phosphorescence. When the two men caught up, she smiled at them. "Shall we go?"

"I've got a hunch we're nearly at the end of our journey," Tintin said, smiling back.

They picked their way up the stairs. "Calculus, here we come…" Tintin muttered.

Qoya looked back at him, eyes shining. She reached for his hand, squeezed it once, then let go as the staircase ended.

Tintin felt an odd, unpleasant tightening in his chest, and tried to brush it off. "Where is this leading us?" he asked, as they emerged in a small chamber.

The choking sensation intensified. It was small, and dark, and damp in this cave. He was feeling claustrophobic–unusual for him. Would the cave end soon?

Was his collar always this tight?

"If we keep going, we'll soon see," Qoya answered. She darted around the chamber, peeking into every nook and cranny. Tintin watched her explore.

That was when the panic–the utter, absolute panic–set in, and took away his breath.

 _ **Uh-oh. Sorry. You knew it was too good to last, though.**_


	25. Chapter 25

_**Hi everyone–my weekend is going to be bonkers so I'm posting ahead of time. Happy 2019, let's hope it comes with an impeachment…**_

He wished he were back underwater. Or still trapped under the avalanche. Or stuck in that damn shark submarine Professor Calculus had built. Breathing had been easier in all of those situations.

"It looks like there was a cave-in, probably caused by an earthquake," Qoya said. "We might be at a dead end. Unless…"

Spots appeared in Tintin's vision, and he went down on one knee, letting his head dangle. Qoya turned to him. "You OK?"

"Fine," he managed to stammer. He yanked at his shoelace for cover. Qoya turned around again.

Captain Haddock knelt next to him. "What… is… going… on…" he hissed between his teeth. Tintin could only shake his head, still gasping for breath. Tears pricked at his eyes. He'd never experienced fear, panic like this.

"Snowy and I found the emergency exit!" Qoya called excitedly from a narrow tunnel in the wall.

"Splendid, we'll catch you in a minute," Captain Haddock hollered, then turned back to Tintin. "Talk. Now."

Tintin sat down, but he couldn't form the words.

It had started the instant Qoya took his hand. It made no sense at all. He'd grabbed her hand several times before, but when she reached for his–in that casual, almost thoughtless way–he'd felt…

Trapped. That was it.

The walls seemed to close in even tighter. He was sure his windpipe was physically contracting.

Images flashed into his mind, unbidden. Qoya and Tintin, holding hands. Qoya and Tintin, at the cinema. Qoya and Tintin, going for an evening walk.

Qoya and Tintin, settling down… in one place…

It was totally irrational, he knew that. And unfair; Qoya had done nothing to warrant these thoughts. And, it was out of his control. And too much.

"Did you hear me?" the Captain had apparently been talking to him this whole time. "What is WRONG with you?"

"I think I'm having a panic attack," Tintin whispered.

"Why aren't you overcome with joy?!" the Captain demanded. "That girl is head over heels for you, and you..." he stopped short at Tintin's expression. "...oh."

"I'm being s-selfish," Tintin stammered. "What was I thinking? That she'd come with me? Follow me to–I don't know, Palestine, or wherever I end up next? If I'd even want her to come?"

"She never..."

"Or that I'd just, you know, stay here in Peru? Forever?"

"You don't…"

"I can't do this."

"Stop it." The Captain massaged his temple. "Blistering barnacles, just stop…"

"Well, what do you suggest? Should I just quit my life now, propose, and buy us a house with a white picket fence? One we'll never leave for the rest of our days?"

"Shut your mouth. You'll hate yourself for saying these things."

"I'm serious!" Tintin pulled at his hair. "It's not fair to her! I'm not prepared to stay here, and it's not fair to ask her to come with me when I don't really know how I feel!"

"You don't really–" the Captain swore. "How can you not know? You have the self-awareness of… of one of these rocks."

"That's not what I mean!" Tintin swore too. "I like her, sure. But enough to want her to move across the world for me? Enough to settle down and stop adventuring?"

"Who's asking you to do all that? Why can't you just–appreciate the moment for what it is?"

"Because I can't! Unless I'm prepared to ask her to come with me, I can't–I just can't! And I can't ask her to come unless, you know, unless I really know!"

"Know what?"

"How I feel!"

"We're back at this?! Tintin, you–"

"No, I mean–how I REALLY feel."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"I mean–am I prepared to die for her? That's the only way it would be worth it. And if I'm not, it's just not fair for me to keep leading her on like this. Unless I know. That I'd die for her."

Even as he spoke, he felt the sheer, nonsensical, stupidity of his words. He was spouting lunacy, and he still couldn't catch his breath. The Captain gaped, speechless. That was a first.

Then, Qoya cleared her throat as she emerged from the shadows.

 _ **Sorry… sorry… sorry...**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**I swear, Pink-Pencil-Girl303, you're reading my mind. Hergé himself, at some point, conceded that Tintin's biggest flaw was that he was just so damn virtuous; I really wanted to dig into that, and this won't be the only time. Thanks, as always, for reviewing; and thank you everyone, for reading!**_

Tintin closed his eyes, an icy feeling of dread spreading from his chest outwards.

He turned around. Qoya had, apparently, slipped back down the "emergency exit," probably to see what was taking them so long. Neither man had noticed, they'd been so caught up in Tintin's panic attack. She stood stock still, arms crossed.

There was a soul-squeezing silence.

"Qoya," Tintin said, standing and reaching towards her…

She jumped back and shouted "No!"

Tintin bent double, hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. He looked up at her. Her expression could have frozen whiskey.

He started to say her name again, but she interrupted: "Stop! Before I can listen to you, I need to know whether I'm prepared to die for you!"

Her voice cracked on "prepared" and she turned on her heel, swinging her hair to cover her face. Tintin suspected she was crying again.

Perfect. How many times could he make this girl cry?

Tintin scrambled after her as she made for the tunnel. He reached to help her, but she slapped his hands away. "No! I can't let you touch me until I know whether I'm prepared to die for you."

"Qoya, please–"

"Get away from me!" She climbed up.

Tintin climbed after her, pulling himself into a second chamber, not even noticing his surroundings. "I didn't mean–"

"NO!"

Captain Haddock hoisted himself up. "Both of you, please listen, now's not the time…"

Tintin ignored him. "Qoya, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Thundering Ty– Tintin, stop. Now."

"I promise you," Tintin continued, still advancing on Qoya, "I'd never hurt you. You weren't supposed to hear what I–"

"Blistering Barnacles! Tintin, lad, I'm begging you, PLEASE stop!"

"Captain, be quiet, I'm apologizing! Qoya, you weren't supposed to hear…"

"SHUT UP!" Qoya and the Captain shouted in unison, and flabbergasted, Tintin finally closed his mouth. It made no sense. Why wouldn't Qoya just listen to his apology?

The Captain went to Qoya, who looked like she might punch a hole in the solid-rock wall. He put an arm around her shoulders and spoke in her ear. Tintin couldn't hear what he said, but Qoya seemed to calm down–marginally–as he said it. She turned, eyes darting around their current chamber, probably looking for another tunnel out, and gave a short shriek. She pointed at something over the Captain's shoulder.

Tintin turned and–oh! A face, somber and angry, peered at them from a window in the rock.

Qoya advanced towards the face, stammering in Quechua.

No reaction.

"¿Habla usted español?" Qoya asked, moving closer; then, she relaxed slightly, and muttered to herself, "Ah, por supuesto, usted no habla…." She reached out and touched the face, jumping back as the painted clay piece fell and shattered, followed by a vase, a set of musical pipes, a doll, and several pieces of jewelry.

Shocked into silence, all three of them knelt.

Tintin picked up a bracelet. "Crumbs…" he said. "I think these are the contents of…"

"...a tomb." Qoya finished.

Captain Haddock looked back and forth between them, and shook his head. "You were right about the earthquake," he told Qoya. "Let's see what's beyond…" he took off his rucksack and hoisted himself into the next tunnel.

Tintin tried to take advantage of his absence. "Qoya," he started, but she shook her head and turned her back. As soon as Captain Haddock cleared the tunnel, she started to climb.

"Here, let me help you," Tintin said, reaching for her.

She swatted at him. "Don't touch me. I still don't know whether I'd die for you."

"You have to come see this!" the Captain's voice interrupted them before they could start fighting again. Qoya disappeared into the next chamber, and Tintin followed.

Mummies greeted him. Squatting figures, wrapped in cloth and tied with rope. Already short of breath, Tintin suddenly felt lightheaded.

Qoya, on the other hand, seemed fascinated. She knelt by one, prodded at it gingerly, and glanced at Tintin.

"Don't get any ideas," he said.

"Cuidado," Qoya replied caustically. "We could find out _right now_ whether you'd die for me."

A piercing "TOOOOOOOOT" came from Snowy, and they all jumped. He'd accidentally blown a flute carved from a bone.

"Come look at this slab," the Captain said. "I think if we all push…"

Tintin stood, and felt around the edges. He looked at the Captain. "It's quite a hope," he said.

"You're the one who said we're almost there."

"OK, let's give it a try." The two men planted their feet; Tintin looked at Qoya, who was still examining a mummy. "Can you give us a hand?"

"I don't know, I still haven't figured out whether I'd die for you," she muttered.

"That's getting old, Qoya," Tintin said.

"I agree. What idiot thought it up in the first place?"

Tintin stepped towards her, his face reddening. "What are you, five?!"

"Stop this!" the Captain commanded. "Calm down!"

"Yeah," Qoya said, "calm down. You don't want to bring on a panic attack or anything."

"Stop! Both of you!" the Captain ordered, in his "I'm-the-Captain" voice. "Direct your fury at this slab of rock. Come on, now… One… two… three… Heave!"

Grudgingly, they pushed, and it moved, ever so slightly.

"Splendid!" the Captain said. 'Again: One… two… three… Heave!"

In one motion, the entire slab fell forward, taking Tintin, Snowy, the Captain, and Qoya with it. It crashed to the floor with an almighty thud, and the four of them collapsed in a heap. Tintin's jaw collided with the Captain's elbow, and he swore in pain before looking around to gauge their new surroundings.

It was a magnificent, cathedral-like space, hewn from stone within the mountain. At least 20 Quechua men gaped at them.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Double update today. You'll see why. I don't own Tintin. Enjoy!**_

An overpowering sense of déjà vu seized Tintin. His vision swam. The men surrounded them, and Qoya jumped up, speaking rapid Quechua.

One man approached her warily, angrily. He said something, and Qoya responded with another long stream of Quechua, holding her hands out, palms up. He interrupted her; she listened for a minute, then turned to Tintin.

"I did my best to explain, but they're not–They're taking us to see the Inca. The King."

"OK," Tintin said. "OK." For some reason, being in an actual crisis was restoring his sense of calm. He stood. "We'll ask him where the Professor is."

The Captain stood too, chest puffed angrily. "I've got a thing or two to say to his lordship."

"Keep calm, Captain! Keep calm, I implore you…" Tintin said as they were prodded and cajoled down a long hallway. "Great snakes…" he mumbled as they emerged in an even larger, more magnificent space. A golden, stone temple. A man in yellow sat on a throne. The déjà vu intensified.

Several of the Inca's guards pointed spears at them.

Back straight, Qoya stepped forward and spoke. She'd only managed a few words when the Inca interrupted her.

"He wants to talk to you two, I'm just supposed to translate," she said. "Cuz he's a sexist pig," she added matter-of-factly.

The Inca spoke again, and Qoya said: "By what trickery have you entered Qorikancha?"

"I… er… Noble Inca, we found the entrance quite by chance, when I was swept into a waterfall," Tintin said.

"Don't lie," Qoya said. "We were looking for it."

"Just translate!" Tintin snapped.

"Fine, fine..."

Qoya spoke in Quechua again. Tintin added: "Tell him: we never meant any harm. We are just looking for our friend, Professor Calculus." Qoya obliged.

The Inca spoke, and Qoya said, "Your friend Calculus is not the issue at present." She listened some more. "Why has…" she swallowed. "Why has this girl led you to us–Did you–Did you threaten her?"

'What? No! Wait, don't say anything, Qoya–" Tintin gripped Qoya's elbow. She'd gone slightly limp, and her eyes stayed on the Inca. The gears in Tintin's head turned. He tugged on her arm again, but she didn't respond. "Qoya, if we say no, are they going to punish you?"

He looked at the Inca again, and saw that it was too late. Maybe he knew the word "no," or maybe he just knew. Qoya was, in his eyes, a traitor.

Tintin looked at Qoya's face. Her eyes were wide, and locked on the Inca. She said nothing, but with her eyes, she was… _begging_.

A roaring rose in Tintin's ears.

The Inca raised his hand, and Qoya's arm was ripped from Tintin's grasp. Four armed guards surrounded her and forced her away.

Part of Tintin floated up out of his body and looked down at the situation, watching Qoya being led away. "Do something! You idiot!" he screamed at himself.

Then, before the two parts had completely reunited, he'd cried "NO!"–a guttural, desperate cry that came from deep within his chest–and launched himself into the air. He fell upon the guards with a power and force he did not know he possessed.

When he became fully aware of himself again, he realized he must have tackled Qoya to the ground; she looked up at him, terrified, as he crouched over her protectively. He looked around. Half a dozen men, all armed with spears, surrounded him. More closed ranks behind them.

A spear jabbed at Tintin, and he pushed it away. The man spoke, and Tintin could guess what he was saying: "give us the girl". He jabbed the spear and spoke again. More spears; Tintin now counted ten–appeared, and moved menacingly closer. The only thing between them and Qoya was his body. How long could he hold them off? What would they do to her? To him?

Tintin heard a whimper of fear; he looked down. Qoya lay beneath him, her hands clutching his shirt, bunching the fabric into knots at his collarbone. Panic filled her dark eyes, too big for her face. He touched her cheek.

Then he sat back on his heels. With clenched teeth, he spoke. "Translate this, Qoya." He raised his voice. "I swear before God–" he stood–"I will kill you all, or die myself, before any one of you touches a hair on her head!"

Qoya sat up, and Tintin saw the glint of the metal chain around her neck.

"Qoya!" he dropped to his knees. "Show them the talisman!"

"What?"

He tugged at the chain. "The talisman!"

Qoya yanked out the small necklace and held it up in her hands. The Inca rose from his throne, pointing and yelling.

Then, a man wearing blue came forward and talked to the Inca. Tintin recognized him. The man who'd given him the talisman back in Jauga. The Inca called him "Huascar". Qoya leaned forward, listening intently.

They talked for several minutes. Or perhaps a week. "He's telling him about the fight with the gueros and the oranges," Qoya whispered.

The Inca touched Huascar's shoulder. "He says it was good of him to give you the talisman–very good–and, OK, they'll let me go…"

Every muscle in Tintin's body relaxed. He actually laughed with relief.

Qoya continued, "...but only… only separate from you. I… they're planning… I'll never see you again."


	28. Chapter 28

" _Never see you again_ …." The words rang in Tintin's ears.

It was all too much. The whole day, the whole trip, it was too intense. He felt broken.

"Well." He had nothing left. "That suits you just fine, doesn't it?" he said to Qoya, not looking at her.

Qoya said nothing, but moved her face into his line of sight, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were wider than ever.

"It's OK," he said. "You don't have to say it. We were heading that way anyways."

"Tintin." Her hand grabbed his.

"No, I mean it," he said. He gave her hand a squeeze. "You're safe, that's what counts."

The men with spears surrounded them again, only this time, they were only interested in Tintin. He stood. "OK," he said. "I'm ready. I'll come quietly. Lead the way."

He and the Captain both fell into step, marching away to… wherever.

"TINTIN!" Qoya screamed. He turned to look at her one last time.

Her eyes were bigger than any eyes he'd ever seen, but she wasn't scared, just… desperate. She seemed to be trying to say something, to communicate. Her mouth opened, then closed.

A spear prodded him, but Tintin just looked at her more intently. What was she...?

Then— _then—_

His mind replayed what he'd said only moments before: "... _I will kill you all, or die myself, before any one of you touches a hair on her head!_ "

"... _kill you all, or die myself…"_

"... _die myself_ …"

"... _die myself_ …"

Tintin stopped breathing.

The earth stopped turning.

Up was down, day was night.

The only other person in the world was Qoya. They were alone on the planet. A rope, a lifeline, stretched between them. Tintin could feel it, pulling him towards her.

Then he was physically yanked away, back into reality.

Qoya's eyes grew smaller, and then she was gone.

And Tintin was left to grapple on his own with the fact that his life would never, ever, be the same again.


	29. Chapter 29

_**Hang in there, duckies, we're getting close… I don't own Tintin!**_

It took less than an hour to clear up all the misunderstandings. Several people at Qorikancha spoke English and could serve as translators, and as soon as they realized that Tintin and Haddock had not come to dig up their ancestors' graves and transport their bodies far away, but were merely seeking their friend, they relaxed. They even told them they could leave in the same traveling party with Qoya, if they so desired.

Qoya had been claimed immediately by a few older women who washed her, fed her, and clothed her in a simple white dress that made her look… Tintin had to look away. They exchanged nothing but pleasantries during the next few days, and certainly didn't touch each other.

Professor Calculus, it turned out, had come with them quite voluntarily, eager to see the wonders of Peru and especially Qorikancha, so near the equator, during an upcoming eclipse. He was in a library now, with several Quechua scholars, examining new and old charts and maps of the sky and questioning them about celestial wonders (they knew much more about astronomy than he), when Tintin and Captain Haddock entered.

"My dear friends! How wonderful to see you again," he enthused when he saw them. "Have you come to learn about the eclipse too? It's amazing, what these researchers have taught me. You know, I have an offer from the Syldavian government to work on some sort of... celestial project, I can't remember the details, but this is making me more and more interested…" The Captain interrupted with a tirade ("You couldn't leave a note? Or take the time to telephone? All for an eclipse?"), to which the Professor responded: "No, no, for an eclipse! Oh, and, I'm sorry I couldn't reach you by telephone; I kept getting someone named Cutts."

He might as well have been underwater, for all that Tintin could pay attention to them. He felt sluggish, in a stupor, for the first time in his life. It was the most anticlimactic end to any of his adventures, but it left his head–and heart–reeling in ways he'd never before experienced.

He would die for her. He'd said it.

The days went by. He gained several bruises walking into furniture.

As the entire population of Qorikancha traipsed outside to view the eclipse, Tintin found himself walking in step with Qoya. She didn't notice at first, and when she did accidentally catch his eye, her face fell, along with Tintin's heart.

She immediately peeled off to walk with a group of girls. Tintin watched her go, and promptly walked into a boulder. "Excuse me," he mumbled to it.

He'd said he'd die for her. And she'd heard him.

Tintin was angry. Why had he been led to believe that it–whatever _it_ was–would be pleasant? He kept thinking of that time he'd nearly fainted in Syldavia, after going without food to track the King's scepter for two days straight. The lightheaded, disoriented, what-is-happening-to-me feeling was exactly the same. And nothing about it was pleasant.

Why did he always remain calm in the face of almost certain death, but lose control when faced with this one girl? Why hadn't years of knockout blows and concussions, real physical traumas, prepared him at all for the– _feelings_ –that he was experiencing now? How could his body serve him so well through so many years of literal poundings–and then turn on itself, his heart racing, his skin clammy, his lungs begging for more air during the mild panic attacks that continued–all because of a piece of work named Qoya? How could he allow her and her hair-trigger temper to have such power over him? Power that she hadn't even asked for?

He wasn't calm, or in control, and she did have power over him. He hated that. No, this was not a pleasant feeling.

And yet… _and yet_ … whenever he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that soon she'd be gone from his life, he remembered how she'd looked at him, while the Captain was sleep talking to the anteater, and whispered "this is joy in its purest form."

He remembered her face, shining and radiant, after she'd rescued him from the avalanche.

He remembered how they'd looked at each other–then quickly away–when the llama had attempted to eat Captain Haddock's beard.

He remembered what it felt like to kiss her lower lip.

And he remembered the first time he saw her, when she'd shaken the pebble from her shoe without losing balance of her tower of oranges.

What he felt, when he remembered these things… _that_ was pleasant.

The panic set back in. _Why_? She wasn't even in his line of vision. Why was he panicking when she wasn't even near him?

And if he was panicking at the mere thought of her now… what would stop him from panicking after they parted ways? Could he be sitting in Marlinspike Hall next week and suddenly find himself unable to breathe?

Perfect… now he was panicking over the idea of future panic attacks.

A question formed at the back of his mind. He pushed it down. It rose again.

Could it be that his panic stemmed not from his fear of being trapped with Qoya, but of being separated from her?

The sun emerged and the sky became light again, like a cosmic-level, metaphorical joke. When had it been dark? Somehow, he'd managed to miss the entire eclipse.

Suddenly he was shaking, not from panic, but from an inability to live in denial any longer.

He wanted to be with her. He wanted to be at her side. He wanted her to come with him when he left Peru. He wanted her to come with him wherever he went next.

He would die for her. He knew he would. She knew he would. There was no going back from that.

But should he ask her to come with him? Did he even have the… the _right_ to ask something so enormously life-changing of her?

As much as it scared him, the idea also made him feel a deep, warm sense of _yes_.

The eclipse had come and gone, and he'd barely registered it. Professor Calculus was beside himself, positively jumping for glee, and even Captain Haddock seemed impressed. The Quechua researchers were talking to each other excitedly, comparing their notes and arguing over exactly how long it had lasted.

Someone sat down next to him. The man in blue; the one who'd given him the talisman. Huascar. "¿Puedo hablar con usted?" Huascar asked.

Tintin nodded, then added: "Pero, recuerde que yo sólo hablo un poco de español."

"Si, por eso traje a mi amigo." A second man sat down on Huascar's other side and waved hello to Tintin, who, recognizing him as one of the English-speaking translators, waved back.

Huascar spoke, then the translator: "I want to talk to you about Qoya. I know you are thinking about what to do next, whether to ask her to come home with you, and I have some things to say."

"Crumbs." Tintin would have been offended, if he hadn't had bigger fish to fry. "You dive right in, don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What makes you think I'm going to ask her to come with me?"

Huascar furled his brow at the translation. "I said you're considering it. You are, aren't you?"

What did he have to lose? "Yes, but the thought only occurred to me five minutes ago. How could you know?"

Huascar actually laughed. "Oh, my dear boy, really? Five minutes ago? I've known since the day you met her. The day with the oranges."

The translator chuckled and added, "To tell the truth, I knew also, as soon as I saw you together. And your friend Haddock said he knew before he even met Qoya."

"Oh," Tintin said, and shrugged. He wished he could laugh too.

Huascar straightened his face and went on. "The thing I have to tell you is this: Qorikancha is a special place for Qoya."

"A special place?"

"She has been very happy, these past few days. She is in a place where everyone looks like her. It is not exotic for her to look the way that she does–it is normal. There are no Europeans reminding her that she is beneath them, nobody attacking her. I do not know her history, but I understand that this is the first time in her life she's ever been in a place like this."

Tintin tried to imagine what life would have been like for him if he'd been born in Peru, and suddenly moved to Europe as a young adult. But then, he realized, even if he'd stood out in Peru, he wouldn't have been forced to sell oranges; his light skin would have all but guaranteed him a better job. So he tried to picture what it would have been like to grow up at Qorikancha, a place where all decision-makers, all powerful people, had dark skin.

He nodded to Huascar to show that he understood, or at least was trying to.

Huascar continued, "If she comes with you, she will always be strange, even when she's no longer a stranger. People will stare. They will speak loudly and slowly to her, sometimes even people who know she speaks English. You will get stares, if you are together in public. People will ask you what you you're doing with her, or worse. And if you complain about this to Qoya–or try to make her comfort and take care of you in those situations, or try to use anger to show that you're not like them–in short, if you make her responsible for making you feel better… you will hurt her, because however bad it is for you, she will experience worse."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"I…" Huascar sighed. "I knew someone once. I don't anymore. Qorikancha is not perfect, but here I am free of those things."

"Are you saying I shouldn't ask her to come with me?"

"I didn't say that, and I won't. Especially when I saw…" he sighed again. "I see how you look at her." Tintin looked down, cheeks red. "That's not–look at me, boy, there's no reason to be embarrassed. I see how you look at her, and how she looks at you. That's not something to throw away lightly. I'm saying, when you ask her– _if_ you ask her–know exactly what is it you're asking her. Asking _of_ her. Because for her, it's not just the bother of packing and the long plane trip."

Tintin thanked Huascar. They sat in friendly silence for several minutes before both Huascar and the translator got up, shook Tintin's hand, and walked away.

Tintin stayed still, lost in thought, for several more hours, until the sun settled low in the horizon. Then he got up. He knew what he had to do.


	30. Chapter 30

Qoya was sitting and eating with a group of girls her age when Tintin found her. "Can we talk?" he asked. The girls glanced at Qoya, and two of them moved closer to her.

Qoya took a long time before she said, "Now?"

"We're leaving in the morning."

"Ah." She stood and dusted herself off. "OK, then." She exchanged a few muttered words in Quechua with the others, then followed Tintin outside.

The sun was still up, but sinking fast. Clouds hung low in the sky, which was starting to turn purple. It would be a spectacular sunset. "Thanks for doing this, I won't be long," Tintin said.

Qoya hopped up onto a stone wall. "Can I go first, actually?" she asked.

"...Sure."

Qoya took a deep breath. "I just need you to know that I'll be OK. I don't regret this trip at all. I learned a lot about life, about myself…"

"Did you?"

"Oh yeah. I learned, for example, that when I have a crush on someone, one way I express it is by having a quick temper."

Tintin laughed. "You mean you're not always a short fuse?"

"Nope. Never, actually. Only around you."

Their eyes met. She smiled. Then her face grew serious once more.

"That night, when I told you about my family–you're the only person I've ever told. You're the only one who knows. Thank you for that." Tintin shook his head, but she persisted, "No, I mean it, thank you. I needed to say those things out loud. It was good, healthy for me. And I don't think I could have said it to anyone else. If only for that, I'm glad I met you…"

Tintin tilted his head, but she wasn't looking at him now.

"...And I'm ready to move on. And I'm happy here. These are good people. Really. And everyone looks like me!" She smiled. "So you can go with your conscience clear. I mean it." She stuck out her hand for Tintin to shake. "It's been a genuine pleasure, Tintin."

Tintin took her hand, and held onto it. He curled his fingers around hers. Qoya made to withdraw her hand, but he held it firm, staring at her thumb.

He took a deep breath.

Then he said, softly but clearly, "I want you to come with me."


	31. Chapter 31

_**This is it… we made it!**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone for reading. One more giant THANK YOU to Pink-Pencil-Girl303 for her incredibly generous reviewing.**_

 _ **I don't own Tintin!**_

Qoya stared at him, disbelief etched in her face. "What?" she said sharply.

Tintin took her other hand in his, so that he held both. He looked up and met her eyes. "I want you to come with me."

She said nothing, though her mouth gaped.

Tintin took another deep breath. "I'm an idiot, Qoya. I mean, that whole panic attack–the 'I need to know whether I'd die for her' line–what kind of idiot says that?" She smacked her forehead and laughed. He tugged on her hand and she looked at him again. "And then, I got my question answered. I set a ridiculously high bar, and the universe obliged. I'm an idiot, but I'm not that much of an idiot. I want you to… I just…" he gave a shy half-smile. "I just want to be near you."

Qoya inhaled, a sharp, sudden intake of breath, and turned her face down.

Tintin continued, softly, "I didn't think I'd ever find anyone who I could talk with about… orphan stuff."

"Orphan stuff?"

Tintin laughed. "Yeah. Orphan stuff. But you, you just crashed through fifteen years' worth of inner walls like they were nothing. You're smart, and brave, and funny, and stubborn as…" he looked up. Qoya was smirking.

"...go on," she said.

"...as the livelong day," he finished, and Qoya chuckled. "And you're kinda pretty, too," Tintin said, his cheeks pink. Qoya wrapped her hair around to her mouth and chewed on it. "And, I love arguing with you. I love it so much I don't want to stop. So I'd love if you came with me. I'll do everything I can to make you happy. I promise. No more kidnappings, no more avalanches. But lots of arguing." They both laughed. "I mean it, though," Tintin added, then more softly: "I won't need a third chance."

Qoya was still chewing on her hair, brow furrowed. Tintin cleared his throat. "I know this is a big decision for you, and staying here…" he gestured to the temple behind them "...has its benefits. I know that if you come to Europe with me, everyone will stare. People will treat you rudely, and the ones who don't treat you rudely will expect medals for it. And I won't know what that's like." Qoya looked up with a wondrous expression, tears brimming in her eyes. He touched her chin. "I will never, ever know what that's like." She nodded, as the tears spilled. "That's why–if you truly want to stay at Qorikancha–I won't fight you. I won't beg. Because what I'm asking you to give up by leaving Qorikancha, especially with your history, is huge, and if you decide it's too huge to give up, I, well... that makes sense."

Qoya took a deep, shuddering breath. Tintin was very nearly crying himself now, so he finished, "It's your decision, I just want you to have all the information. Including the fact that I want you to come with me."

She said nothing. He finally let go of her hand and walked off, noticing that the sky had become a deep, rich purple as the sun slipped away.

He'd was almost inside when he heard Qoya's cry. "Wait!" He turned; she was running towards him, hair flying behind her. She stopped in front of him, breathing heavily.

"I'll go with you," she said, panting.

Now it was Tintin's turn. "What?" he asked shortly, not sure he'd heard her properly.

"I'll go with you," she said again. Her face broke into a grin, then she laughed. "You look baffled, but you're the one who asked me!"

"I didn't think you'd make up your mind so soon!" Tintin laughed too, then seized her shoulders. "Are you sure? You don't need to think about it more? Sleep on it?"

She shook her head, radiant. "I know. If you hadn't said what you said, about knowing what you're asking me to give up, I'd probably stay here. But you said it. I'll go with you."

They looked at each other, laughing and beaming in the sunset. "May I hug you?" Qoya asked.

"Um, please."

She launched herself into his arms. He leaned back, lifting her off her feet, and whirled her around and around.

Finally he set her down. She was brushing a few happy tears from her eyes. "May I kiss you now?" he asked. She nodded, and he did.

"What's the Captain going to say?" Qoya asked when he finally pulled away.

"Let him gloat," Tintin answered. "The real question is, how are we going to explain this to the professor?"

"Is he really that deaf?"

"Are you kidding me?" Tintin shook his head. "Get ready to shout 'WE'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP' at the top of your lungs. Several times." Qoya hid her face in his chest and shook her head, laughing. "He'll love you, though," Tintin said. "Although, to be fair, he loves everyone."

"Thanks, I think," Qoya said, and Tintin put his arm around her as they walked back inside.

"Where will you go next?" Qoya asked.

"You mean 'we'?" Tintin grinned at her. "Who knows? First, you have to see Marlinspike Hall."

"What's that?"

"The mansion where the Captain lives. But before that, I was imprisoned there. They tried to kill me."

"I like it already."

She threaded her fingers through his, as if to reassure him that she was only joking.

"Good, you can live there, with the Captain and the Professor. That will work much better than my flat in Brussels. I bet you could have the cellar all to yourself… the mold isn't _that_ bad…"

Qoya pretended to uppercut him. He briefly nuzzled his head into hers and kissed her cheek. And together, arms around each other, they walked back to join the others, arguing all the way.

FIN.

 _ **:-)**_

 _ **So. I have to tell you all something.**_

 _ **I have a sequel in the works.**_

 _ **It needs… work. It might, or might not, see the light of day.**_

 _ **Give me a "fave" and a review if you've been reading this whole time and haven't bothered. It's only polite, at this point.**_

 _ **It'll also let me know people are interested in seeing a sequel.**_

 _ **Thank you again!**_


	32. Considering a Sequel

Hi everyone. I know it's been quite a while since any of you have heard from me (this is assuming there are, in fact, people out there who will read this!). First things first: I hope you and your loved ones are OK. This COVID-19 moment we're living in is super stressful, dangerous, destructive, and my heart goes out to you if you or your loved ones have had your lives turned upside down, one way or another, by this thing.

One of the strange truths of life right now is that some people (health workers, sanitation workers, mail carriers, and so many others) are more busy and stressed than ever, while most people (myself included) find themselves suddenly with a lot of cancelled plans and extra time on their hands to stare at various screens in an attempt to keep the anxiety and the malaise at bay. So, with extra time on my hands (and perhaps on some of yours?), I'm considering picking up where I left off a few years back and taking a stab at that sequel.

Would any of you read it? I'm also looking for a beta reader, since this story will contain elements that go to much more serious and difficult places than the first one did. Definitely, this story needs some work, but it still might be welcome escapism for people at this particular moment.

So please leave a review here that says whether you'd like a sequel, if you want one, and also please tell me whether you'd be willing to be a beta reader. Fingers crossed!


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